Crossroads of Disbelief
by Thought Reflex
Summary: A case of mistaken identity leads to trouble for Arthur, and the struggle to regain his freedom and survive brings two kingdoms to the brink of war. LOT's of whump, a little comfort. pre arthur/merlin
1. Chapter 1

**Rating:** pg13

**Word count:** 54,500

**Warning:** sacrificial murder of an infant (not graphic), torture, sexual assault (implied), captivity, jealousy, injury/healing injury, violence, pre-evil Morgana, heavy Arthur and Merlin whump

**Summary:** A case of mistaken identity leads to trouble for Arthur, until it becomes not just a bid for his own freedom, but a struggle of survival that encompasses not only himself, but Merlin, and two kingdoms on the brink of war.

**Author notes:** with story.

**Art link:** Master art link (it's FANTASTIC!)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any rights to the television show 'Merlin,' its characters, or any of its cast. This is a work of fiction based on the series and does not in anyway express the views or intentions of the show, the shows owners, or the shows employees.

**AN: **This story has been sitting patiently in my mind for ages, waiting to be written. Arthur and Merlin probably would have preferred I left them alone, but alas I hope everyone who reads it doesn't agree ;)

A huge thanks goes out to my ever wonderful Beta Laryn, who is always willing to edit my work even when she doesn't have the time! She's a fic saver for sure :D Obviously all grammatical faults still kicking around are my own, and if they're glaringly obviously please let me know so I can fix them.

I was also incredibly lucky to have been chosen by the extremely talented Eppy7 as my Artist! Her work is not only beautiful but an incredible accompaniment to the story. You seriously need to admire it! Even if you don't read the story, her work is a slam dunk and not to be missed!

Of course I can't miss out on thanking my wonderful friend Kelly, who puts up with me babbling alllll of my ideas out loud and letting me bounce them off her :D

All the best and I hope you enjoy the story!

**Crossroads Of Disbelief**

**Story by: Thoughtreflex**

It was midmorning when the trumpets sounded, loud through the dreary patter of rain, and Arthur stood back from the table with a deep feeling of foreboding and a near silent sigh. Apparently it was not silent enough, however, when he looked up to find his father's strict gaze aimed his way.

"You cannot blame me for not being thrilled," Arthur spoke quietly as he grabbed his crown from where he had set it on the table, thumb brushing over one of the imbedded jewels, and dropped it in place over his hair. His father did the same, though with much more relish, and he acquired an actual bounce in his step as he moved towards the council rooms entrance.

"I expect you to be on your best behaviour Arthur. This is not the time for childhood grievances and jealousies, nor will there ever be a time for such nonsense."

"I'm not the one you need to be concerned with," Arthur pointed out dryly, and when his father failed to respond he took the silence as the agreement that it was. Sadly this did not make him feel more amenable to the situation.

Stepping outside, the drizzle began to dampen his clothes and he looked to the procession that trotted toward them. Horses and guards and bannermen with flags drooping soggily moved in strict formation, which Arthur never failed to be impressed by, and before them all rode King and Prince Baranak. Arthur wished he felt as enthusiastic about this visit as his father, but, as the many visits before, all he really felt was weary. Uther had no such problem as he watched the approach with a warm glow in his eye that was rare for him, and that, at least, Arthur couldn't begrudge, not even when the visiting Prince of Warwick's eyes latched onto Arthur as he pulled his horse to a stop. The look was as piercing and unfriendly as always as he no doubt took in Arthur's thick red jacket (his third best) and finding it lacking. His gaze didn't linger however, for dismounting from his horse forced a break.

"Camilus," Uther's voice was as confident as it ever was, and laden with true enthusiasm as he reached out and clasped forearms in greeting with the broad shouldered King, who returned the greeting with a warm smile of his own. "It has been far too long my friend."

King Baranak was just as enthusiastic in his greeting, pulling Arthur's father in for a brief and, perhaps slightly improper, embrace. It went a long way in making Arthur feel slightly better about what he himself would have to endure these next few days as he turned his attention back to Camilus's son as the King's continued to greet each other like excited boys at a tourney.

"Welcome back to Camelot, Prince Edgar," Arthur forced a polite smile, fully intending to ignore the spark of loathing at the superiority that sparked in the prince's eyes as they clasped arms. Edgar's grip lingered around his forearm a fraction too long for his taste and Arthur took a polite step back once the greeting was complete. "I hope your journey wasn't too unpleasant."

"It was fine, thank you Arthur," he responded, a touch coolly, and then they were both distracted by greeting each King in turn and Uther, drawing the conversation back to himself and Camilus, skilfully moved them indoors. Edgar fell into step beside Arthur, his dark hair and clothing plastered to his body from travelling in the rain and Arthur ignored the jolt of satisfaction that he looked like a drowned rat.

"And where is the lovely Lady Morgana? I would have thought she'd take part in the greeting party," Edgar's tone was friendly enough, but Arthur still bristled at what, coming from anyone else, would have merely been polite enquiry. He hid it well behind his mask of regal indifference.

"Unfortunately she had tasks to attend to and sends her regards. She looks forward to joining us at the banquet this evening."

"I'm sure," Edgar smile politely back; clearly not buying the excuse but it wasn't his place to comment more about it. Firming his resolution to get these meetings and subsequent banquet over as smoothly, and quickly, as possible he smiled back as pleasantly as he could.

Of course, while politics and politeness could be maintained on a surface level, it was very easy to become caught up in quiet discussions and sneaky barbs throughout the rest of the day and well into this new morning. Arthur couldn't help it. King Baranak was an honourable, strong man that Arthur would proudly ally his kingdom with, but his son was an arrogant, overbearing, self-indulgent-

"Do you _really_ need to be doing this?" Merlin's curious question cut through his internal tirade and Arthur resisted sighing aloud, instead turning to face his manservant and take the tin of water he held out for him. He ignored the question, because the answer was, of course, blatantly obvious. "I mean-" though perhaps it was only blatantly obvious to everyone else in the land, king forbid Merlin could understand something so simple, "-you've been play fighting with King Baranak's head knight for ages now, surely you could wait until tomorrow to fight with Prince Edgar." Arthur gargled a mouthful of water and spat it to the grass before taking a smaller drink to quench his thirst.

"I have been _sparring_ with Sir Holden, Merlin, not playing," he growled, sharper than he intended and he could see the brief flash of surprise in Merlin's eyes before the man quickly hid it beneath an easy smile. Of course he regretted his tone immediately, it was not Merlin's fault that Arthur was in a surly mood, but knowing that didn't help the situation any. Arthur had been just as poor in attitude towards Merlin all throughout the evening before as well; frankly he was surprised Merlin wasn't spitting in his drinks for the way he had been treating him. He eyed the cup he held, suddenly not quiet as thirsty as he had been, and handed it back to his tall companion.

"And yes," he continued dryly as Merlin watched him with his cool, dark eyes, "this is absolutely necessary." He rolled his shoulder to try and jostle the slightly damaged gardbrace back into place. He barely shifted before Merlin was on his other side, hands moving to the armour and doing something that had it sitting back where it was supposed to be. Arthur moved his arm about to test it and nodded in tight satisfaction that it was fine. Merlin stepped back.

"But Prince Edgar has just arrived from a tour of the market. Surely it would make more sense for him to spar with a fresh partner?" _Surely it would make more sense for him to not challenge someone who was already clearly exhausted from fighting most of the afternoon_ is what Merlin no doubt meant. Of course Arthur agreed, but he was also not surprised. This is how Edgar worked, it's how he had worked since they were children, waiting until his opponent was already tired, exhausted even, before swooping in to challenge. Against Arthur, at least when it came to any physical challenge, this was often the only way the man had even a fleeting chance of equality while fighting him. Still, it was embarrassing for those who served Edgar, to know that their prince was too much of a coward to challenge Arthur when they were both high of energy.

Arthur looked across the muddied training ground, still recovering from the previous days rain, to where Edgar was having the last of his armour strapped into place by a squire Uther had ordered for him. Edgar's dark, near black eyes were watching Arthur steadily. As he was wont to do. His attention briefly flickered to Merlin, before dismissively falling back to Arthur, who met the look with a stern one of his own, not caring for the extra attention. Edgar smirked in what he probably thought was a friendly manner, but as far as Arthur was concerned was filled with nothing but teeth, and it was Edgar whom broke their staring when his squire required his attention.

"Are you implying that I'm incapable of handling myself on the practice grounds?" Arthur returned his own attention to Merlin, ignoring the uneasy feeling that always arose when Edgar watched him.

"Of course not," Merlin clearly wanted to roll his eyes but, after a particular nasty comment Arthur had made at the banquet the night before about that disrespectful action, he refrained. "I'm merely stating that if he wanted to spar with you he should have arrived when you originally agreed, and not sent his best knight to soften you up first."

"Remember that you are speaking of a prince, Merlin," Arthur snapped, feeling the weight of his armour and the sharpness of his words and not particularly keen of the flash of hurt irritation Merlin quickly hid. He moved to slip his gauntlets back over his hands, and turning his back briefly on Edgar's preparations across the way, muttered, "undoubtedly he did me a favour by sending sir Holden in his stead. At least it means that I had a chance to benefit from donning all this metal, cause lord knows Holden is the only true challenge I'll be facing today."

It wasn't an apology, but it took some of the sting out of his words so he no longer felt the minor, very, very minor, sting of guilt for being so sharp with his manservant. However, Arthur was fairly sure that Merlin had probably done something that morning that made him deserving of at least one or two harsh words. Still, he felt better as he moved swiftly to the training grounds center, feeling every single bruise Sir Holden had managed to inflict from an afternoon of heavy training. Edgar moved with equal swiftness, clearly full of energy, though he held his shield slightly lower than Arthur had been trained. Edgar was a lazy fighter. Arthur could see Sir Holden school his features into a blank mask along the sidelines, no doubt to hide his frustration at hours and days of trying to train Edgar out of his bad habits.

Some people just weren't natural fighters, and though Edgar was clearly fit and strong, he fell into that category.

"Enjoy your tour of the market?" Arthur asked mildly as they met in the middle of the grounds, far enough away that the knights and servants watching would not be able to interpret what was being said. Arthur often suspected Edgar only ever challenged him (aside from the fact that it was expected of visiting royalty to 'demonstrate' their allegiance with a few friendly practice fights) so they could have the conversational privacy these bouts provided. They didn't have to guard their words here.

"It was quite relaxing," Edgar rolled his shoulders and gripped his swords hilt tighter in preparation for attack, "though a little on the small side. I would have expected a kingdom of Camelot's stature to be…more."

"Well," it took a great deal for Arthur to school his feeling of smugness into a polite quirk of the lips, "I suppose of anyone _you'd_ be well versed in hearing about such expectations." Sadly, their conversation did not improve at all from that point on.

Arthur attacked first, because it would take a dogs age for Edgar to make a first move (the man thought that it somehow made him look the more honourable, waiting for his opponent to make the first strike) and the small arena was filled with the bold clanging of steel on steel and the rattling of armour over chainmail. Arthur's body ached from the heavy load he'd been wearing for what felt like hours, but he was far from ready to stop. He'd been training his entire life for this type of battle after all, physically and figuratively, and he could go until his body gave out on him.

Didn't mean he couldn't feel sore. Sir Holden was truly a skilled knight after all.

"You think because Camelot has more land than Warwick, you're better," Edgar hissed when they were next up close, a statement rather than a question because he knew that Arthur hated people deciding what he thought, as opposed to asking. Edgar was always good at getting his back up.

"No, _you_ think that Camelot is better because of its size. I have nothing but respect for your father and people," he hissed back and shoved Edgar away, bringing up his sword to parry a thrust and stepping forward to bash his shield against Edgar's, pushing him back two steps. Edgar regained his footing and glared, swinging his sword hard in a series of heavy blows. Arthur pretended not to see all the openings the poor attack left him to take advantage of, more out of habit than anything else at this point. He had made the promise to himself years ago that he would not embarrass King Camilus by tromping his son in every fight, but it was hard sometimes to not take natural advantage of all the weak spots.

Arthur had, on more than one occasion, wondered if Edgar wouldn't be such a defensive git if he had just a little more natural ability with the sword.

"But not for me," Edgar acknowledged coolly when they were next close. Arthur blinked to get a stray drop of sweat out of his eye and kept his face blank. It was not a secret that Arthur didn't care for Edgar, and vice-versa, at least not amongst their closer family members. It caused despair for their fathers, but after Uther had extracted the promise that Arthur would do his best to get along with his friends son (when he was eight years old), he had stopped openly worrying about it.

"Well," Arthur took a tight swing at Edgar, noting the way the mans movements were already slowing far too soon, and softened his blow a little. "Perhaps if you arrived to a challenge when your opponent is as equally rested I would not be so quick to judge." Edgar's face turned slightly red at that, and it was not from exertion.

"I'm only helping to feed your overinflated sense of superiority," Edgar smiled tightly back, breathing heavily along with Arthur from the heavy work.

"_My _sense of superiority? That's rich coming from you. Tell me, is it my imagination that your crown is three times the size of my own, or is it merely a trick of the light?" Because Morgana had told Arthur, years ago, that Edgar had insisted on having a new crown made after seeing that Warwick's traditional crown was of equal size to Camelot's. It was almost as big as the kings, and he was pretty sure it had more jewels. It was an old bit of contention between them, one that had grown to mean so much on a personal level over the years, that it never failed to get Edgar riled up in a near violent way.

This time, though, when the mans dark eyes flashed it was with more than the heated irritation Arthur had grown so accustomed to. This time Arthur couldn't help but see pure venom in the look mingled with something that Arthur could only express as proprietary, and it sent a brief shiver of unease through him as Edgar attacked once more (despite the concentrated hostility he was still a lousy fighter).

"One day soon, Arthur Pendragon," he hissed as they were pressed close again, close enough that they were practically breathing in each others faces as Edgar bared his teeth. "One day soon you will lose yourself to me in ways you cannot imagine!"

Arthur, not knowing anymore if this was more of their tired childhood arguing, or something darker, pushed him back and retaliated with his sword. It was only a few moments later they ended the fight, Edgar on his back and glaring, though still taking Arthur's hand to be hauled back to his feet. It wouldn't do to be obvious about the discourse between them.

When Arthur followed Merlin into his private changing tent he dropped his helmet to the table and accepted the water given to him without word. Thinking. His unease must have been obvious as Merlin was suddenly before him, frown on his narrow lips as he stared.

"You look like you swallowed hot coals," he pointed out and moved to begin undoing the multitude of buckles and straps wrapping around Arthur's limbs.

"If that were the case I dare say it would be a sight tastier than anything you've ever cooked up for me," he bit back, though with a decided lack of edge as he was still distracted by Edgar's words.

"Arthur-"

"Just get me out of this metal Merlin, and then have a bath drawn in my rooms," he cut off the no doubt well-meaning words and, for once, Merlin did as asked silently.

When Camilus and Edgar finally left, days later, Arthur would only admit to himself that the sudden, unfamiliar, tension he had been shouldering finally left him alone. If it was still a few days after that before Merlin forgave him for treating him like an incompetent manservant during the course of the royal visit, well, Arthur could live with that.

Besides, he wouldn't have to deal with Edgar again for at least another year, which gave him plenty of time to mull over the mans cutting words.

Two months later, when word of King Camilus's death reached them, Arthur never once suspected anything foul about it. It was a tragic loss for Warwick and, on a more personal level, for his father. With Edgar succeeding to the throne, and mourning to take place, Arthur made effort to put aside all petty thoughts towards the man, with the idea of, perhaps, mending the poor bridges the two of them had been suspended on all these years.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

The moon was high, casting its full light upon the land, filtering through trees heavy with leaf and casting deep shadows along the road side. The silence surrounding them was heavy, unnatural; no night crickets chirping, no insects buzzing, not even the hushed flap of an owl's wing in flight.

"You are certain this is the location?" King Baranak hissed, turning a moment to glare at his servant, standing timidly by his side.

"Yes, your majesty, I am certain. The crossroads of the West Downs, past the midnight of the full moon," he answered quickly, voice hushed to match the air around them. He shifted the delicate bundle in his arms, shrugged his heavy shoulder pack into a more comfortable position and looked cautiously into the shadows. He had always feared what he could not see.

His master nodded and turned his gaze upon the high moon, his heavy black cloak shifting from his face to reveal pale skin, eyes dark and glinting.

"Very well," Baranak announced to the air and turned in a circle, eyes searching. "We are here as arranged. Reveal yourself." Stephen held his breath a moment, fear shivering up his spine before he forced himself to stand taller, moving a step away to give his king room. He gasped when his shoulder connected with something solid, a hand reaching out to squeeze his arm. He quickly spun away, arms tightening instinctively around the warm bundle he held. He hastily loosened his grip a moment later, remembering too late what it was he carried.

The child, but weeks old, began to draw in a huge breath. An unhappy keening filled the air. Stephen bounced the infant gently but made no other move to quiet it. He looked instead to the being of diminished stature before him, shoulders hunched, head covered by a silvery cloak, one gnarled hand curved around a staff that barely came to waist height. The witch stared at the crying child, white eyes narrowed and glowing hungrily, until his majesty stepped up beside her and broke the stillness that had surrounded them.

"I am glad to see you choose to honour our agreement," the king spoke, his voice sharp and cracking in the still air. The witch looked up at him, cocking her head to the side, and smiled. The smile of one demented, Stephen thought, and suppressed the urge to flee.

"Honour? Perhaps." She looked between the child and his king. "Perhaps." She muttered and then shifted. The movement of his majesty's hand to the hilt of his sword was not missed by anyone. The witch merely laughed and hobbled to the centre of the crossroads, the moonlight making her cloak shiver like a beacon.

"Perhaps," she muttered again.

The king remained where he was, watching carefully. The child's cry grew louder.

"Silence him," his lord demanded.

"I am trying m'lord," Stephen responded quickly, shoving a dirty finger into the babe's mouth and shushing at it. The babe tried to spit it out, twisting his head away in disgust and hiccupping in distress.

"This is a dark path you choose to walk," the witch spoke softly, laying a small blanket of hide on the ground, followed by a bowl, a pouch and a vile from her robes to lay beside it. A knife's blade gleamed in her palm. "Be you certain this is the path you truly wish to follow?"

"I will rule Camelot," his lord declared. He stood taller in the night, pulled his hood off and glared proudly down at her. "It is my calling."

"But not your right," she grinned and his king sneered distastefully at her and her missing teeth.

"Watch your tongue, witch! It will be my right."

"Treason of the highest form," she spoke. "Treason, worthy of death."

"Much like the treason of magic," he sneered.

"Worse, my Lord," she implored, still smiling. "Worse, worse, worse."

"Enough," he snapped and stepped forward, cloak billowing behind him. "You are either in agreement of these decisions, as you were when you agreed to this meet, or you have changed your mind and we shall deal accordingly." His hand was once again gripping at his sword. The witch laughed.

"I am in agreement. In agreement. So long as my passage to the Ire lands are still arranged."

"It is. The boat shall sail in two morning's time. Be sure that you never return to this land," he directed.

"Agreed, agreed," she sing-songed and then looked over at Stephen, her boney hands reaching out, the knife hidden once more in her robes. "The child," she demanded. Stephen stumbled backwards, thinking to protect himself and the young heir. The movement startled the already fussy babe, and his screams carried high into the night.

"Give him to her," his king demanded shortly and still Stephen hesitated, until his master turned his glare upon him. He was shamed to admit that this was the first time in his service to this man that he had ever hesitated to follow his wishes. But he had vowed allegiance, he believed in his King's will, and so, after only a moments hesitance more, he stepped forth and passed the squirming bundle over to the witch. He couldn't help cringing as her fingers brushed against his own and he quickly withdrew, feeling cold now that the tiny body was no longer pressed against him.

"There is no return," she implored again and looked up at his majesty. "The sacrifice of your first born, of your only born, can not be taken back."

"It is of no consequence," he implored, voice deep and certain. "I shall sire another son when I am King once more. Get on with it." Stephen did not watch as she lay the child on the skins, pulling the dirty blankets away from his tiny body.

"Did you bring it?" she demanded, hand already reaching towards them once more. Stephen quickly stepped forward and handed her a small cloth bag, then retreated behind his king. She pulled from it a lock of hair that shimmered golden in the moonlight.

"A lock of hair from Arthur Pendragon," his king announced, eyes flashing in disdain at the name.

"The crowned prince, the crowned prince," she laughed and dropped the hair in the bowl. The child still cried out into the night. She took blood from the king's hand, slicing into his palm and collecting it with the prince's hair and the chanting began. Stephen moved away, to the edge of the forest, chest tight as he kept his eyes on his king.

"A worthy position you will take," the witch implored with a hollow, echoed tone and lifted her knife high so the moonlight could beam off of it.

The child's cries ceased.

Stephen did not flinch, perhaps because he was uncertain of the reality he was witnessing, perhaps because the guilt was pressing him into the earth itself. The child was no more, and the lingering warmth from where he had held him was nothing but a memory. The cold knot of dread in his chest finally eased, lifting away, and in its place a numb ache that he had never felt before took up residence.

It was over and there was nothing more to fret over. Nothing left to protect that wasn't his king. His king whom he believed in and loved, loved enough to follow even here. There was no turning back now. That in itself was a relief, to know that he was so trusted, so needed.

His King watched the ritual impassively (He had never held his child, never truly acknowledged its existence. Perhaps that meant it would be okay for Stephen to forget about it as well, to pretend it had never been.) as the witch chanted dark words, cold and dead enough to suck the moons lingering glow from around them. When she finished neither king nor servant could move until she broke the stillness, gathering wood to build a small pyre in the centre of the road. They all watched as the flames carried what had once been a life high into the sky.

"It is done?" his master demanded, patience absent from his voice as he stared down at her hunched form.

"It is, it is. Half a fortnight it shall need to set," she began packing her belongings, tucking them away beneath her cloak, her milky eyes tracking the fire as it burned beside them.

"And how will they respond?" King Edgar demanded, and she looked up at him, staring a long moment before standing stiffly and taking up her staff.

"Arthur Pendragon, they'll say. Crowned Prince of Camelot! And your authority shall be absolute. Take care, however! For when the half fortnight has passed another fortnight must come to be where the true Arthur Pendragon must remain alive. An early death for the young prince and this shall be for naught." And then she turned and walked away, her hobbling steps making no sound and it was once again silent.

"My king?" Stephen moved once again to his side, careful to avoid getting even a glancing look at the fire and what may remain within its dwindling embers.

"I believe," his Lord looked down at him, a grin on his lips, "that my Prince would be a more appropriate form of address." Stephen grinned back softly. This he was okay with. This he could accept.

"But of course, my prince," he bowed low and could feel the pleasure his king was emitting.

"Come, my destiny awaits and we must be in Camelot in a fortnight," King Edgar ordered and Stephen followed without hesitation.

The young men moved back along the road. Their future was set, a destiny of greatness and wealth lay before them. Behind them the ashes of innocence were left to blow away.

ΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦ

Art By: Eppy7

He'd been out all morning, trolling around for the herbs and roots that Gaius had made a point of having him collect whenever he had the time. It had been relaxing, if one could get past the utter boredom of wandering through fields and forests digging up roots and picking flowers. In all honesty Merlin was grateful just to have a task to occupy his mind, since Arthur had forbade him to join his hunt that morning, claiming that Merlin tended to scare away all the animals and that for once Arthur actually needed to come home with something for dinner.

Prat.

He stepped over a rather large bump in the dirt path and shook his head in unwanted amusement, after all he should be irritated with Arthur but as usual he just couldn't muster any true ire. By default that just made Arthur more of a prat, which made Merlin feel a little better about being left behind. That and the fact that he'd had a building headache the last while that would have made a hunting trip just miserable.

His thoughts were interrupted as the sound of hurried footsteps approached from behind and he moved aside accordingly, blinking when three young farmers raced by without a backward glance, their heads bowed in excited conversation. People had been passing him on the road back into the great city for the last half hour, and while they'd held a sense of urgency about them he hadn't paid them much concern. He frowned now after their retreating backs and narrowly missed being knocked into by two more adolescents speeding by. He adjusted his grip on his satchel, shifting it to better protect the more delicate herbs before his attention was grabbed by a group of women stepping from their home just before him. Flour still adorned their aprons and a white cloud puffed after one of them as she dusted her hands while they joined the rush to the castles grounds. He began to worry then, a knot of unease forming in his stomach and he picked up his pace, long legs eating up the distance with more urgency.

It wasn't until he approached the gates into the castle grounds that he truly began to feel anxious.

"Merlin!" Gwen was standing by the gates, her yellow dress standing out among the other outfits that swept by her and into the castle walls. She waved frantically at him and he gave up any pretence of being casual about his approach. Gripping his bag tightly he ran the last distance until he stood right next to her, taking in her ashen face.

"Gwen!" He gripped her arm, hoping she wasn't going to faint on him. "What's happened? Are you all right?" She didn't look all right, her face pale and her hands shaking as she reached out and gripped his own.

"I'm fine Merlin, but Arthur-"

"Arthur?" He cut her off, the unease in his stomach becoming out right dread. "What happened to him?" She looked up sharply at his tone, and perhaps it was harsher than warranted but if anything had happened to him, if Arthur was gone... Merlin shook his head, willing his thoughts to clear. Arthur must be okay, surely Merlin would have felt it if something had happened to him. He knew he would have.

"Merlin, calm down," Gwen squeezed his hand imploringly which didn't help him at all but he took a deep breath to pretend it had and then stared at her. "He is fine, Arthur is okay now," she smiled gently and he forced himself to not snap at her as he understood the most important part of the statement.

"Now?" he asked quietly and her attention, which had been drifting towards the castle courtyard, focused fully on him again. She shook her head slightly, apparently not knowing where she should begin before just taking a breath herself and finally explaining.

"Apparently he's been held prisoner for the last month. There have been accusations of the darkest magic, and that Edgar Baranak has been posing as Arthur all this time," she rushed out. Merlin just stared at her, because surely that was a ridiculous accusation. He would have known if there had been dark magic anywhere near Camelot, let alone Arthur. And he certainly would have noticed Arthur not being, well, _Arthur_.

Wouldn't he?

"Baranak?" He asked blankly, and let her tug him along with the crowds towards the courtyard.

"Yes, he was here half a year ago. King Camilus and prince Edgar, don't you recall? Arthur and the prince nearly came to blows in the dining hall. Edgar has always been jealous of Arthur."

Merlin did recall, suddenly. Arthur had treated him like complete dung that evening, responding to him as though he meant less than dirt and berating his competence the entire night in front of Edgar. He'd apologised later in his chambers while Merlin angrily turned down his bedding, stating he had his reasons for acting so harshly but he had never truly explained himself. Come to think of it Arthur had been a right prat the entire week that the royalty of Warwick were visiting.

"Edgar?" Merlin said, sounding as stunned as he felt.

"_King_ Edgar now, his father passed away shortly after that visit. Honestly Merlin, don't you listen to any of the talk?"

Apparently he didn't.

"Arthur has been a prisoner of Edgar's for a month?" His mouth was dry as cotton and he found the sentence difficult to enunciate.

"Yes, and Edgar has been living here this whole time," her grip on his arm was firm but her voice was shaky and she was still pale as she continued. "He placed a spell over the entire kingdom, tricking us all into believing _he_ was the true Arthur. We may have never known if Arthur hadn't fought his way from their dungeons and finally made it back home."

"I've been serving Edgar thinking he was Arthur?" He asked aloud, and then shook his head to try and make sense out of her words, because the idea was preposterous. Nobody was that good an actor, nobody could have taken Arthur's place without at least _someone_ noticing. Merlin would have noticed long ago, he was sure of it.

"It was hard for any of us to accept at first, but when you see him you'll _know_," she hushed, dragging him along. He suddenly became aware of the press of bodies surrounding him, people talking loudly, yelling, a group of young women weeping rather foolishly off to one side.

"What do you mean when I see him?" He asked, and then she stopped and pointed firmly over he crowd. He turned to look up at the platform she had pulled him towards. The one used for public executions and entertainers alike. He looked up to the solid post that had been attached to it, and to the man who stood beside it, alone above the sea of people.

He couldn't see the man's face, but from the side it was unmistakably Arthur. His flopping golden hair and proud stature unmistakable from the ground and Merlin's breath stuttered to a halt in his throat, because that was Arthur up there. It was Arthur…

Without warning his world shifted violently, lurching away in all direction before his vision leeched to black and swallowed him whole. A vice clamped around his head hard enough that he feared his brain would burst from the pressure. It drilled into the very core of his mind and his entire body was flooded with ill. He was weak, nauseous and the pain was fast approaching a point where desperation to escape it might involve splitting open his skull to relieve the pressure- and then it went away. Just like that. Gone. His vision sharply cleared and he found himself blinking up into the painfully bright sun that was only partially blocked by a handful of faces that stared down at him. He frowned back.

"Merlin?" Gwen was suddenly there, her anxious brown eyes peering down, worry clear within their depths. "Merlin? Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

"Yeah," he squeaked, and cleared his throat. Several arms grabbed onto his and he was dragged to his feet, a few hands clapping his back in support as he managed to keep his feet. Gwen rounded on him as he shook his head. It still felt a bit fuzzy, and there was a slight ringing in his ear. "What happened?"

"You fainted," she explained, and smiled kindly at him.

"I did not!" he denied instantly, ignoring the few laughs around him as he waited for her to explain what had really happened. Gwen just looked at him, patiently waiting for him to regain his bearing. "I did not faint Gwen," he insisted, a little quieter this time and she raised an eyebrow at him as the doubt began to take hold. "I fainted?" Really? He couldn't recall the last time he'd passed out, unless it was directly related to a blow to the head or a poison. Or he faked it to get out of chores for Arthur, but that had only really worked the one time.

Arthur.

"Arthur!" He exclaimed, and sucked in a breath as he twisted about to look upon the dais. He stopped, and stared. The knot of dread in his stomach was not dispelled in the slightest with what he was seeing.

The man on the stage was as Merlin remembered him to look, with pale floppy hair and stubborn square jaw, but it was clear now that it was _not _Arthur. He was an impostor, and it was only then that Merlin realized the impostor had turned his head and was staring right at him. From this distance he couldn't tell that the man's eyes were blue as he thought he remembered, but there was no mistaking the searching look he was giving him and Merlin swallowed thickly under the gaze, but he met it defiantly.

They stared firmly, and then Edgar (how, how could he have been mistaking this fair-haired man for his prince all this time?) took a breath, the searching look in his gaze hardening and he turned away to stare back out front of him. He squared his shoulders even more and lifted his chin, arrogance personified as he stood tall and Merlin was hard pressed to look away.

"That's not Arthur," he whispered, and flinched when a rotten tomato appeared from the crowd and smashed into the impostor's back. The man didn't move, but the guard Merlin hadn't noticed before took a pointed step away from him.

"I know," Gwen gripped his elbow now, her hands surprisingly strong despite her size. "He had us all fooled Merlin, even the King." How this was even possible Merlin didn't know and he felt rooted to the spot, uncertain of what to do next. A head of brown, rotten lettuce was thrown at the man standing bound on stage, his wrists held before him by thick coils of rope. Then an apple clipped the side of his head. He quickly shook it off and, if possible, stood taller.

When the rock smashed into the centre of his back, forcing him to flinch, the crowd cheered. Gwen's hand tightened, Merlin couldn't look away.

"Traitor!" Someone yelled from the back of the crowd.

"Coward!" Another joined in and the impostor said nothing, staring stonily at the balcony above.

"Conspirator to the thrown!" Another vegetable flew into his chest and Merlin watched as his hands clenched beneath the ropes. The hostility in the air was thick. This man had attacked their Prince and Merlin was only now coming to realize that the only punishment acceptable was death. Though he knew this wasn't his prince standing bound before them all, a panic bloomed in his chest at the thought. He moved forward, to head around the front of the crowd to get to the castle. He needed to see Arthur, the real one, to make sure he was okay and hear the true story of what was happening here.

He barely made it a few steps before the crowd hushed, and he turned to look up at the balcony. There King Uther stood before them, proud in his royal black and burgundy and his eyes glared stonily down at the man on the platform. Should looks have the ability to murder, the impostor would have been struck down instantly. Then, moving to stand beside the King, was Arthur himself.

The crowd cheered, the wave of sound nearly deafening Merlin.

He looked Arthur over intently, noting that he was dressed sharply in black, silver buttons adorning his tunic, his near black hair brushed into place. His skin was pale, and a vivid bruise stood out on one cheek, visible even from this distance and Merlin felt a pang of regret that he hadn't been there to help him when he had been needed. Hadn't even noticed he was in trouble.

Now, Arthur stared down at the man on the stage, his stance unforgiving and cold and Merlin feared for what he must have gone through the last month to make him appear so harsh.

Uther raised a hand, and instantly the cheering stopped, the crowd staring up imploringly at their leaders.

"Good people of Camelot," Uther leaned forward and rested a hand on the banister, "the man standing before you is a traitor of the most detestable kind." Grumblings arose from the crowd and he silenced it with a glare. "He has used enchantments and dark magic to manipulate his way into our very hearts, forcing us to believe, against our wills, that he was my true son, and heir to the throne." Merlin swallowed thickly, still staring up at Arthur, willing him to look down, just for a moment, and silently let him know he was truly okay.

"Under our laws the sentence for such an act is death." The crowd cheered. Merlin looked back over his shoulder to see the golden haired impostor standing rigidly, staring at Uther with such force it made Merlin feel uneasy within his bones. He looked back up to Arthur who, while both shorter and slighter than his father, still stood imposingly strong. He stepped forward with a limp to stand beside the King, but made no acknowledgment of the pain and the act of stoicism was so plainly true to his character that Merlin was filled with pride.

"And death is the sentence he shall receive." Arthur's voice carried over the crowd, hushing them once more, "but such an act of treason, such cowardice and deceit, can not be forgiven by the mere act of an axe." He looked away from the crowd and glared down at the traitor that had caused him torment, and smiled viciously. "So you, Edgar Baranak, shall feel the swiftness of Camelot's retribution. A message must be sent to show that we will not bow down to our enemies." Arthur kept a steady glare on the traitor. "We will not take light acts of treason and hostilities, and those who oppose us shall know our wrath. I order ten lashes to be executed immediately, and we shall gather again upon the fortnight to witness final execution. May death show you a mercy you do not carry within your own soul."

The crowd roared, boots stomping at the ground, swords banging loudly against shields, fists pumping the air in righteous fury and Merlin spun around to watch as Edgar's red shirt was swiftly ripped from his pale body. Bruises were revealed on his arms and torso, still too fresh to have properly formed, showing the extent of his struggle against capture. He was shoved forward until his hands were tied down to a ring in the post before him. It forced him to hunch over, his back bared and unprotected for the world to see, and behind him the executer jumped onto the stage with a whip coiled tightly in his hand and grin on his lips. He would not be kind.

Merlin's mouth went dry.

Surely this traitor deserved everything he got. There could be no greater cowardice than to use dark magic to usurp the future king, and Merlin had little patience for anyone who threatened Arthur. But seeing this man bared so, and still trying to stand proud amongst them, it pulled at something within Merlin and he was suddenly uncertain that he could witness the pain that was to come.

The crowd hushed and Edgar, making no move to escape his bindings, tilted his head up to stare defiantly at King Uther.

"My name," he shouted out, "is Arthur Pendragon. I am the true Crowned Prince of Camelot." The crowd mocked him but he did not remove his gaze from the balcony, fury evident in every line of his body. Merlin watched as the whip uncoiled and then, moments later, its loud snap was unmistakeable as it hit flesh.

Edgar jerked forward, face scrunching in the sudden pain before clearing. He opened his eyes, and unerringly locked onto Merlin's gaze. He stared imploringly, and Merlin couldn't hold the gaze, looking away a moment, unable to decipher what to feel as the urge to protect and seek revenge warred within him. When he looked back again Edgar was looking away once more, staring at his clenched fists and nothing else about him. The whip cracked again, and the crowd cheered.

By the sixth lashing Edgar was sagging forward, his hands braced on the pole before him to keep him on his feet. He'd bitten his lip to keep from crying out, blood trailed down his chin to drip on his chest and the planks beneath his feet. His skin was as pale as linen.

On the eighth snap of the whip one of his knees gave out beneath him and smashed into the wooden decking. He did not move to stand, but refused to fall further, now staring at the post that sat before his face, arms stretched above his head.

On the tenth lash he barely managed to stifle a yell. The crowd had grown quiet. Merlin could see the blood from his back trickling around to his sides, slick and scarlet on his ghostly skin. And then, after a moment of breathing and silence, he pushed off his collapsed knee to stand, hunched over, once more.

Somebody in the crowd spit on him.

"Let this be a lesson," Uther implored. "Take him away."

Merlin watched as Uther disappeared quickly, leaving Arthur to stand over the proceedings. The crowd parted as Edgar, barely managing to stand, was hauled to the edge of the platform and roughly shoved off. He landed with a thud, the air forced from his body, dirt mingling with blood and sweat, but instead of curling upon the ground like Merlin was certain most sane people would, he straightened out and once again moved to stand.

The guards didn't give him a chance to get to his feet, wrapping their hands under his arms and dragging him bodily from the yard until they disappeared through the doors that Merlin knew led to the dungeons.

He blinked as the doors were secured firmly.

"I'll bet you're itching to go and make sure he's all right," Gwen appeared by his side and he jerked, feeling on the verge of tipping over an edge he couldn't see. His skin felt tight and scratchy all over. The headache from that morning still demanding his attention, only it was heavier now. He must have knocked it when he fell.

"What?" He asked, startled, before his brain caught up to what she'd said. "Who?"

She stared at him incredulously a moment.

"Arthur, of course," she laughed, sounding shaken and he realized that she was trying to put the beating they had witnessed behind her.

"Yes, Arthur," he echoed and looked back at the doors that Edgar had been dragged through. Fresh blood was splashed on the grey stones. "Of course. I can't believe he had been imprisoned for so long," his mind focused sharply as he refocused on his prince, thoughts of the torment he must have suffered flashing through his mind.

"He is an incredibly strong person," Gwen sighed, worry once again clouding her features. "I do hope he is as okay as he appeared."

"I am sure he is. You know Arthur, he could have a missing leg and he'd still insist on training. All the same, I'd best go and see if he needs anything."

Merlin took his leave quickly. Arthur was fine.

He was just fine.

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	3. Chapter 3

Merlin skidded to a halt outside the Prince's chambers, his heart in his throat as he straightened out his red scarf and made a passing attempt at flattening his hair. The guard that stood tall by the door rolled his eyes at him, but Merlin couldn't even find it within himself to care. He was too anxious to see his friend. But he did take a moment to examine the guard, considering that for the last five seasons that Merlin had known Arthur the prince had never, not once, had a sentry posted outside his doors. It must speak of the torments he suffered that he still felt need for protection within his own home.

Merlin reached out to push the door open, but he paused and after a moments contemplation he knocked instead, which had the guard giving him a little nod of approval that he also promptly ignored. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. The ringing in his ear had yet to desist.

"Enter," he heard Arthur call out and without further hesitation he barged into his chambers, and stopped almost as suddenly. Arthur, who had been posed gazing out the window, turned upon his entry and then frowned at Merlin.

"Yes? What is it?" He demanded and Merlin jumped aside as the servant who had been bustling around the room almost crashed into him, carrying something that suspiciously looked like a vanity table to the other wall. Merlin stared a moment, and then blinked, remembering why he was here.

"I came to see that you were okay Sire," and he couldn't help but focus on the bruising upon Arthur's cheek, vivid in its darkness and even more painful looking upon closer inspection.

"Of course I'm okay," Arthur snapped and moved towards the chair and table, unbuttoning his jacket slowly.

"Let me, Sire." The servant that had been busy reorganizing Arthur's chambers was by the prince's side before Arthur had even taken a step forward, already helping him ease out of the material. Come to think of it, Merlin didn't recognize the jacket at all, it must have been something he lifted upon his escape from Baranak's hold. Merlin wanted to take a step forward, to make sure his friend was truly all right but with this other servant in the room his balance felt off. He was uncertain of his place, and apparently it showed when Arthur looked back over at him.

"Was there anything important you actually wished to impart? A message from the King?"

"No Sire, I just wanted to ensure your wellbeing…" he trailed off at the speculative look that Arthur tossed at him and then felt slightly put out as only then recognition seemed to dawn in his friend's eyes.

"Merlin," Arthur finally acknowledged him properly, staring hard and Merlin stood taller instinctively. "You were my servant," Arthur announced and Merlin felt like he'd been smacked upside the head with a gauntlet.

"I'm sorry Sire, but you did not recall this?"

"It's been a trying month," Arthur snapped back before he took a breath and brought a hand up to rub at his face.

"Of course," Merlin bowed slightly, hurt that he had been so easily disregarded when he had thought they'd meant more to each other than simple master and servant. Then he looked up at the bruise again. Arthur had been struck upon the head, perhaps it had damaged some of his memories. Merlin was instantly worried again.

"Sire, have you had a chance to seek out Gaius yet?"

"Gaius?" He frowned at Merlin, impatience beginning to stir on his features.

"The physician came by earlier, while we awaited the apprehension of Baranak from his hunt," his servant looked at Merlin with an air of self importance and Merlin felt the distinct urge to throttle him in annoyance, despite having no idea who he was.

"Not that it is your concern, but I am fine," Arthur announced and that had Merlin taking a step forward.

"Forgive my insistence Sire, but as your manservant it is my concern," he contended.

"Not anymore," Arthur announced coldly, and sat in a cushioned seat that Merlin didn't recognize. "Stephen here has served me well this last month, aiding in my health and escape. As reward he shall by my new manservant." Merlin stared. Because seriously? Arthur had fired him plenty of times but this was so final, so formal. Apparently Arthur didn't care for his staring too much, as he glared back, his brown eyes flashing in irritation. "Well, stop standing around being useless. Surely you're used to finding new employment; if I recall your ineptitude correctly you've no doubt been sacked plenty of times." His servant laughed at the insult and went about filling his goblet with wine.

Merlin blinked.

"You are an aid to Gaius still?" Arthur asked suddenly, looking interested in the conversation for the first time.

"I…yes. Yes I suppose I am."

"Good. Pass on the message that he should attend to Lord Baranak's injuries. I will not have the traitor escape his beheading by succumbing to infection." He ordered, and then turned his attention to his drink. When Merlin didn't move, instead standing there staring like the idiot that Arthur always claimed he was, Arthur looked back at him and snapped. "Well? Go to your duties and leave me be, before I find a task more worthy of your stature."

Merlin sucked in a sharp breath and bowed.

"Of course sire," and he fled the room. He fled all the way back to his own quarters with Gaius and only after slamming the door shut to their chambers did he stop to truly take a breath. He slumped against it heavily, not at all impressed with Arthur right now.

And that bloody ringing wouldn't leave him alone!

"Merlin? I would have thought you'd be attending to Arthur right now," Gaius announced, looking over at him disapprovingly and Merlin couldn't help glaring back in anger.

"Oh I tried. The sod sacked me. Again." He announced and stomped forward to collapse on a bench. He ignored Gaius's inquiring eyebrow.

"I had heard rumour that he had decided to keep the servant that aided him in his escape," he announced. Merlin glared down at the series of bowls before him.

"Yes. Apparently they _bonded_ during his captivity. He barely acknowledged my existence," he reached out and pushed at a bowl, only to have it disappear as Gaius reached around him and pulled it away. They were silent a long moment, Merlin trying very hard not to set the table alight in his anger. Behind him Gaius sighed softly, and then moved around to take the seat on he bench across from him.

"Do not take it personally Merlin. A month is a long time to remain captive, and it is no secret that Arthur and Edgar have had ill will towards each other since they were but children. There is no telling what Arthur may have gone through, there is no telling how such experiences can change a man."

"I know," Merlin hissed and then checked his tone, because Gaius was only trying to help. "I know what he went through must have been harsh, especially when considering the punishment he allotted to Edgar, but I thought we had moved beyond that of master and servant. I had thought we were friends."

"That you were friends has not been in question for quite a while now Merlin. But there are some things that even friendship can not over come with immediacy. Give him time, allow him to readjust to being home and safe once more. I'm sure he'll come around."

"And what if he doesn't? What if he decides that I'm no longer necessary to him?" Merlin felt almost sick by the thought. "How am I to protect him then?"

"Have faith Merlin. You will find a way to protect him as is necessary, no matter the state of your association."

Yes, Merlin thought despondently, of course he would. But what if, after time passed and separation took hold he no longer _wanted_ to protect him?

"I suppose," he said instead, and rubbed at his head. "Oh, and Arthur decreed that you should tend to Baranak."

"At this very moment?" Gaius frowned and looked at the bag he had been packing when Merlin barged in.

"I would assume so. Those injuries inflicted seemed rather severe, and without aid the man probably won't make it to his beheading, or even through the next few days." Gaius frowned at that.

"It was a rather severe punishment for Arthur to decree, not his usual manner when dealing with such tragedies" he looked back at the bag. "Unfortunately I have obligations elsewhere at the moment. I'm afraid you'll have to go in my stead."

"Me?" Merlin jerked around on the bench in surprise. "Surely you can't be serious? My skills as a healer are rudimentary at best, if anything I'll probably decrease his chances of survival…" he trailed off as Gaius shook his head at him, a small chuckle on his lips.

"I understand the thought of attending someone who caused such harm to Arthur is trying, but it must be done. Your skills have improved nicely over the last months, but I daren't say it requires much finesse to clean and then poultice wounds. You've done it plenty of times for Arthur after a tournament or battle."

"Not to this extent. The man's back looked mangled." Nevertheless he found himself heading to the shelf to pull out a stack of bandages that he'd require for the task. "And I'm not sure I see the point in aiding someone in such a manner just to have their head lobbed off as soon as they're fixed."

"The point is that a person is suffering, and we can lighten their torment." He handed Merlin a jar of healing cream. "It will need applying every few hours if we are to keep an infection at bay."

"Of course it does," he grumbled without any real maliciousness. "Will you be back this evening?"

"I will, but not until late. No need to wait up."

"Right then," Merlin dug an unused pail from beneath a bench and filled it half way with water from the fire pot. "Gaius?" He called out, just before the man disappeared out the door. His mentor turned and raised a white eyebrow in inquiry. He looked tired Merlin thought. Tired and old. "Do you…" he broke off, not quite sure how to pose his question. "Do you feel strange at all?"

"No, not at the moment. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason," he responded a tad too quickly. "I've just had a headache the last little while." Along with an incessant ringing in his ears and flesh that felt too tight over his body, but aside from that everything was just dandy. Gaius frowned at him.

"It's possible the removal of the spell that Edgar had cast has affected you more than most. That wouldn't be surprising considering your level of sensitivity to magic."

"No, I suppose it wouldn't," Merlin agreed.

"It should dissipate as the dark magic is completely eradicated from the area," Gaius announced, but he still looked concerned. "Inform me if it does not go away."

"Sure, no problem," Merlin picked up his bag of materials and the bucket of water, unease at the entire day still shifting under his skin. "I suppose I should see to the prisoner now."

"Yes. Take care to be careful. While I suspect he had another sorcerer cast the spell he may have magical abilities himself."

Merlin accepted the warning, despite the instinctive urge to scoff the thought. He highly doubted the man in the dungeons could wield magic, he was certain he would have noticed it in the last month that he had been masquerading as the prince.

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The dungeons were as damp and dark as he remembered, and the glow of torchlight did nothing to dispel the air of misery and hopelessness that were a part of the very walls. Merlin hated this place, hated the stench of mold and straw and stale air that was as much a part of it as the stone. He understood its necessity, and was glad for it when they needed to lock up the truly hateful and criminal that came through their kingdom.

Walking down the long stairwell now he couldn't muster up any form of appreciation for the place, just unease.

"Merlin?" the guard on duty recognized him immediately, though he supposed that was expected now as he had been the prince's manservant for the longest stretch of any yet to date. Well, until he'd been fired that afternoon, but he didn't see the need to dwell on that.

"Ronald," he greeted formally. "I've been sent by Prince Arthur to attend to King Baranak's injuries."

"Really? I can't see why he's bothering with the lout," Ronald snorted in derision as he eyed Merlin's provisions. Merlin shrugged.

"It's not my place to comment, though I suppose he wants him to survive to his execution."

"I suppose," the tall man pursed his lips in thought before motioning that Merlin should follow him. They moved past the main cells and further down the hall than Merlin had ever been, until they came to a larger room with an old wooden table. Wax puddles were globbed around its surface, partially hidden by the tin plates and cups that the guards used for meals. A game of skills was laid out in the centre of the table, and the unfamiliar guard seated by it looked up at their approach, eyes narrowed.

"What's this now?"

"Orders from the Prince, he's to attend to Baranak," Ronald announced and then swiftly moved back along the corridor until he disappeared from sight. The new guard pushed up from the table with a disgusted snort.

"He should be left to rot, traitorous dog that he is," he spat on the floor and Merlin took care to take a step back lest he become the unwilling target of the mans ire, and made no comment. Instead he watched as the man marched to one of the heavy oak doors inset in the stone wall. There were no windows or bars and the bolt slammed loudly as he slid it from its home.

Merlin's mouth gummed up a little, apprehension flooding him as the dungeon was revealed to him and for a moment he just stared into the darkness beyond.

"Well, go on then," the burly man scoffed. "He's not going to be able to hurt you with the state he's in, and I'll be right over there if you need me," the guard motioned towards his table mockingly. Merlin resisted the urge to glare at him and instead moved to take a torch from the wall. The guard frowned at this, but let him have it, obviously seeing his need for the light.

On the threshold Merlin paused, the coppery sent of blood and sweat already prominent within the room. He swallowed once, thickly, and stepped in.

Tucked away in a corner, facing the door and lying on his side, was Edgar. His eyes were forced open to half mast and he watched warily as Merlin placed the torch in a wall holding. He looked awful, the sweat from a fever already coating his skin and visible even from across the space. Despite this he made move to push up from his place on the ground and Merlin quickly moved to his side.

"No, don't move. You'll aggravate your injuries before I've even had a chance to look at them," he scolded, and then flinched back as the man swung an arm out at him, warning him to stand back. The action itself was useless, besides the fact that there was no force behind it Edgar had had to catch himself before toppling over onto his stomach, an act which clearly caused him great pain.

"See," Merlin pointed out, but remained two steps away as the man blinked up at him, and recognition seemed to dawn.

"Merlin?" he sounded slightly shocked. "What are you doing here?" He looked past Merlin's shoulder to the door and Merlin followed his gaze, not seeing anything that should have drawn the man's attention.

"Your wounds need attending. I've been sent by Arthur to have a look at you," Merlin announced for what felt like the umpteenth time and moved to pull his bag off his shoulder to drop beside the bucket of warm water. When he looked back Edgar was staring at him again from under his floppy pale fringe, his eyes dark and intense in the firelight. It was the same searching look he'd given him when he'd been standing on the platform, and Merlin looked away uncomfortably. He found it slightly difficult to breathe when the man looked at him like that; he couldn't help feeling that he was letting him down.

"Well, that was thoughtful of him," Edgar declared, anger simmering beneath the weak words.

"Considering the torture you no doubt put him through I'd be thankful for this act of mercy."

"Why? So I won't be too delirious to recognize when he's about to have my head chopped off." Edgar snarled in derision and Merlin's own irritation flared as it rarely did around anyone but Arthur.

"It should have been chopped off immediately considering the levels of betrayal you heaped upon this kingdom. Against Arthur."

"Really? Is that what you truly feel?" He asked and looked up at Merlin so imploringly that his immediate response of _yes_ was thrown off and a great sense of horror filled him at the thought. He swallowed and looked away to his work, moving to drop a bandage into the water.

"It doesn't matter what I feel," he said instead after a too long silence. Before him Edgar sighed, sounding weary and in pain.

"I am not Edgar Baranak," he spoke softly. "I am Arthur, though I know you can not see it." And then he shifted slowly onto his stomach, pooling his head into his arms and laying his back bare. Exposed. Unprotected. Trusting. Merlin's hand stilled as he was stirring the cloth in the water, fingers clenching around the material as he thought back to when he first saw this man standing on the executioners block.

And then he saw Arthur standing beside his father on the balcony, face bruised and eyes hardened as he stared down.

Edgar, this was Edgar, despite what he said Merlin could see it clearly.

It was Edgar, who was trusting him with complete ease to care for his wounds despite the fact that Merlin knew him to be an enemy.

"Well," the prone man suddenly snapped, no energy left in his waning voice. "Get on with it then, before I actually die of infection."

Merlin shook himself loose from his thoughts, looked fully upon Edgar's back for the first time, and grimaced. It was a mess. Long stripes crossed over one another, resting atop a mass of swollen flesh that was visible even beneath the blood. The skin was torn for each lash, but a few in particular looked pulpy and deep, their edges gaping open and ragged, blood still weeping sluggishly.

He didn't know where to start.

"Just start at the top," Edgar muttered into the quiet that had overcome them, startling Merlin again and with the direction he finally he set about his task.

Much like when he was being whipped, Edgar barely made a sound. Merlin secretly believed the hisses of pain and mostly concealed grunts were worse than actual cries, and he gentled his touch as much as possible. Traitor or not he couldn't bring himself to hurt this man any further.

The guard came in once half way through, watched silently a long moment and then disappeared back to his station. Edgar didn't relax for several minutes after that.

Merlin smeared poultice as deeply into the wounds as he could, and pulled the wider cuts together with special string and needle. When he finally sat back it was to see that his patient had passed out cold. Lines of pain were visible around his eyes and mouth even in rest. Merlin stared.

Then he stood abruptly, cleared his things, and left the cell.

"I'll be back in the early morning. He's running a fever and his dressings will need to be changed," he announced, and may as well have been speaking to a log as the guard just waved him off disinterestedly.

When he reached his rooms again he went immediately to their cleaning station, and the jug of water that was always ready for them. His hands were shaking as he poured it into a bowl, and he ruthlessly scrubbed the blood from his fingers, scratching it out from his cuticles and nails until the water was pink and his hands felt raw.

The ringing in his ears persisted, his head feeling fit to burst soon and in his minds eye he kept seeing Edgar, looking at him imploringly, as though Merlin should be helping him even though he didn't expect him to.

Merlin collapsed on his bed and threw his arm over his eyes, blocking out the sunset.

He felt…he didn't know how he felt. Off maybe. He wanted to see Arthur, but the dark haired prince had made it clear that Merlin was not welcome.

And their enemy Edgar had made it clear that he was welcome but not expected.

Merlin's head hurt.

This was the lousiest day ever.

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	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Three

Merlin had gone back to his patient before the sun had even begun to hint at arising, tiptoeing past Gaius's bed so as not to wake his mentor. When he'd approached the dungeons the same guards had let him pass with little comment, watching dispassionately as he moved into the cell with a torch in one hand and supplies in the other.

When he'd laid his eyes upon his charge, his shoulders had pulled stiff with a sudden sharp fear. The man looked as still as a corpse, lying on the dirt exactly as Merlin had left him hours before; his skin so pale he was practically glowing in the torchlight. Upon approach his shallow breathing and feverish way became clear, his flesh shining with perspiration and the leggings of his pants sticking too close.

He was unresponsive.

It hadn't been a positive sign, and after looking at the wounds on his back once more Merlin wondered if the executioner had possibly contaminated the tip of the weapon as an extra form of punishment. Or perhaps he had just failed to clean it after previous whippings. The care Merlin had taken earlier should have been enough to stave off infection, but it was apparent that that would not be the case.

"Edgar?" He'd prodded the mans arm and received no response. After a few moments of that he'd gone and re-cleaned all the wounds, grimacing at how much more they had swollen in the few hours away. It had been apparent that they would not heal, not with a mere poultice and definitely not lying on the cold floor of a filthy dungeon.

When Edgar didn't wake up during the cleaning Merlin had begun to worry more than was perhaps warranted. He couldn't let the man die despite his deeds. Not like this. Besides, Arthur had decreed he keep him alive, and he hadn't provided any limitations on how far Merlin could heal him.

So, with caution, he had whispered all the healing incantations he had been studying, his hands held gently above the wounds, his finger tips tingling with the energy he was using.

He hadn't left until the servant girl had arrived with the prisoner's breakfast, and the guard had given him a peculiar look as he escorted her in. Edgar hadn't awoken, but his colour looked about a thousand times better, and Merlin had decided it was a job well done.

Entering into his rooms once again, exhaustion heavy about his shoulders and his head feeling thick, he stopped and stared.

And blinked.

Then he scratched his head, and stared some more.

"Ah, there you are Merlin." Gaius announced, moving about to stand beside him, breakfast still in hand.

"Gaius, is that" he trailed off, looking at the monstrously sized portrait leaning against the back wall of their dwelling, hiding several book shelves behind its mass.

"A portrait of Edgar posing as Arthur, yes." Gaius shook his head at it and moved back to his table. "The servants were ordered to destroy it, but seeing as you were the one who has been his manservant for the last month they felt it poetic justice that you had the honour." He looked at it over his shoulder with a frown, and then shook his head, turning back to his work. "When he found the time to have it painted I have no idea," he muttered mostly to himself.

Merlin stared at it a moment longer, confident and intelligent blue eyes stared back at him and he realized this was the first time he'd ever really looked at the painting. The artist had apparently also managed to incorporate the hint of impatience from his subject, no doubt from him having to remain still for such an endeavour. Merlin grabbed the biggest sheet they had and magicked it over the entire thing, making sure not even a corner of colour peeked around the material.

"I'll deal with it later," he announced and turned his back on it. "What's all this then?" he gestured as he noticed the unusual number of clean medicine pots lining a back table. Gaius looked upon it with a sigh.

"The Prince is moving that we seek reprisal for actions taken against him by invading King Baranak's land."

"You can't be serious!" Merlin exclaimed, turning on Gaius with surprise. "He's an arse, that's a given, but his people don't deserve to pay for his actions. If we invade countless innocents will be hurt if not killed."

"On both sides," Gaius agreed heavily, "which is why I'm getting an early start on preparing some of my more durable remedies. If they decide to take action, then they will need medicines for immediate treatment in the field." He picked up his mortar and pestle and began grinding whatever was in it a little too emphatically. "Thankfully Uther is not yet convinced that such action should be taken, considering the punishment that is already being carried out. He has not, however, completely dismissed young Arthur's suggestions yet."

Merlin sat down heavily and held his head in his hands. "I feel as though I've gone mad. Tell me Gaius, do I look any different to you?" The older man looked him over briefly from his spot across the room.

"You are perhaps a bit more pale than normal. How is your head this morning?"

"Ringing like a jester's bells."

"You should get more rest, especially as you've spent half the night caring for the ill." He announced and turned back to his work. "Speaking of which, how is the fallen King?"

"He's alive," Merlin spit out, and then shook his head to try and rid the vehemence that he heard in his voice. "As per Arthur's orders."

"So his back wasn't as damaged as you initially believed then?"

"Oh no, it was a mess. I swear I could see the bone of his rib through one slash it cut so deep. I actually had to sew his flesh together so he would stop bleeding and he was already falling to fever when I first arrived. He couldn't even wake up properly when I went back this morning."

"How was he when you left?"

"Better," Merlin responded a bit too quickly, and then stood. "I think I'll take that nap you recommended now," he pointed in the general direction of his chamber and began moving towards it, feeling his mentor's gaze on his back as he went. He almost managed to slip through the thin door, when Gaius called him back. He turned to find the old man frowning at him

"What did you do, Merlin?"

"Nothing! Nothing at all, I just tended to his wounds as ordered." He went to turn around again.

"Merlin." Gaius's tone was not amused this time and Merlin's shoulders slumped forward.

"He was dying Gaius. When I went back the poultice had done nothing for him, his wounds were leaking unnatural fluids and his fever burned me when I touched his skin. I had to do something! Arthur ordered me too."

"What did you do?" Gaius asked again, and this time a little dread crept into his tone. Oh, how he had the ability to make Merlin feel guilty.

"I may have used a little magic to heal him."

"Merlin! What were you thinking?" Gaius didn't sound as surprised as he probably meant to. When Merlin looked at him he was rubbing his brow wearily. "Overlooking the fact that the guards must have been close by and could have come upon you at any moment what would have happened had Baranak awoken during the spell?"

"He was too ill to wake up at that point. If I didn't do it he would never awake at all. I will not apologize for my actions," Merlin stood taller and crossed his arms over his chest.

"No, you never do," Gaius sighed and shook his head. "I only ask that you take more care Merlin. Especially around men such as Baranak. If he had discovered your secret there is no telling what he would have done. He could force you to aid in his escape for fear of being revealed. He could tell the guard just to spite you."

"I wouldn't allow it," Merlin rebutted immediately. "Besides, I've been working on memory charms. They're actually quite simple and it would have been easy to remove whatever knowledge I needed."

"Memory charms are not simple, Merlin. They take skill and mastery and can cease working at any given time if not done properly."

"The point is that I wasn't caught, and now he's going to survive. Until he's beheaded."

"You seem a bit more motivated in your duties than I first believed, considering the torment that man has no doubt put Arthur through," Gaius rebutted, throwing Merlin for a loop.

"I…I'm just doing as Arthur asked, Gaius. I have always done my best where he's concerned."

"I am merely worried that you've grown too attached to Baranak. It would not be unusual to develop some form of rapport after a month of working with him. Especially when you feel your place by Arthur's side is uncertain."

"Well there's no need to be concerned," he said, though he wasn't so sure himself. He frowned and rubbed at his head again, hating feeling this way.

"Of course," Gaius finally relented. "You should have that rest now, before you collapse on me." He said kindly and was suddenly placing a hand on Merlin's arm, making him jump. He hadn't even heard him move. "I'll check on the prisoner in a short while, examine your ministrations and see if there is any change in his condition."

"Right." He went to his room but paused on the threshold and looked back. "Gaius?" He asked. He was on the verge of asking if maybe they had it wrong this time, and that Arthur was actually the one being tormented, locked up alone and in pain in his very own dungeons. But when Gaius looked at him he couldn't put voice to his concern, because it was a ridiculous concern in the first place. Of course Arthur was fine, Merlin and countless others had seen that for their very own eyes. "Thanks," he said instead. When Gaius smiled kindly he went and collapsed on his bed. He just wanted the ringing to stop so he could think clearly.

Sleep would help.

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Later that day he emerged from his room to find Gaius sitting at his table, gazing out the window with a thoughtful look on his face. He looked over at Merlin when he stepped into the room, the same thoughtful look on his face.

"What?" Merlin asked, feeling slightly self-concious from the stare.

"I went and examined the prisoner," Gaius announced and Merlin moved closer, instantly concerned.

"And? He's still doing all right?"

"He is. I managed to get him to drink a few cups of water with one of my special blends, which will go a long way in replenishing the blood he lost." He announced.

"That's a relief," Merlin sighed and joined him at the table, reaching for a piece of bread and cheese that was waiting for him. At Gaius's look he concentrated on his meal.

"Indeed. His fever is greatly diminished, to the point where he almost doesn't have one anymore. His wounds are healing extraordinarily well considering. In fact I'd say whatever you did to help him has placed him in some form of healing trance." Merlin nodded in acceptance of this, not questioning the healer's diagnosis. What Gaius didn't mention was that the wounds, while still nasty and no doubt painful, had been healed more than he'd expected, even with Merlin's aid. It would take several weeks yet before they healed fully, which of course meant they never would, but he doubted there would have even been any lasting muscle or nerve damage were the man not to be killed.

It was remarkable.

He doubted Merlin even understood how much power it took to master common spells, let alone the nearly impossible art of healing.

Remarkable indeed.

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Merlin had gone back to check on Edgar the evening before, stirring him enough to swallow more liquids (not all of it making it into his slack mouth). The air was still ridiculously cold down there, and without his raging fever his skin was now cool to the touch. Too cool, as he was shivering.

It hadn't been right to leave him lying on the hard ground with nothing to warm him but a pair of blood soaked pants.

He cleaned the wounds, which were looking much better but were still a far cry from healed, and then draped a spare shirt he 'happened' to be carrying over his back before the guard came and ordered him to leave.

Now, with the morning sunlight disappearing behind closed doors he trudged back down the narrow staircase. It took him a few minutes for his eyes to adjust, but he had no trouble seeing Edgar, seated stiffly in the centre of the room, when he entered.

The man looked up, his hair falling over his forehead but not hiding the piercing gaze he had levelled on him as he entered the dark area. He had tensed, one hand falling to the ground, for balance or leverage Merlin was unsure, but he relaxed almost immediately upon his entry.

"Merlin," he greeted, voice rough and scratchy and still somehow imposing.

"Edgar," he responded, and turned to put his torch in its place on the wall. When he looked over his shoulder it was to find the prisoner with his eyes closed and head bowed, shaking from side to side. "Are you all right?" Merlin asked tentatively, taking a step closer and the man glared at him.

"Define you impression of 'all right' and then I shall answer," he growled. "And before I forget, how many times do I need to tell you to not turn your back on the enemy?" Merlin frowned at him, because he _had_ just turned his back on him, completely. It had been a foolish thing to do, and had Edgar meant him harm he would have probably managed it. At least for a moment, before Merlin got his bearings. Still, he knew better, be it from experience or Arthur berating it into him every time he felt it was necessary.

"You're hardly capable of hurting me in your state," he defended instead, but didn't move any closer, because despite his injuries Merlin was aware that despite not being the best fighter, Edgar was a strong man.

"Never underestimate a person, Merlin, no matter their state. It could get you killed," Edgar sighed, and then shifted slowly onto his rear, a look of pain briefly crossing his features before being concealed.

"Or worse," Merlin agreed off hand. He moved closer to Edgar, taking in his colour and breathing. "At least you look better," he said softly, and blue eyes once again came up to meet his.

"I suppose I have you to thank for that," he said, no question at all in his tone which had Merlin on edge once more. Maybe he had overheard his healing incantations…

"Hardly. A poultice and some bandaging was all you needed."

"I don't know why you bothered, considering the circumstances," Edgar closed his eyes and bowed his head again, his discomfort obvious and, right on cue, Merlin's concern blossomed.

"I need to take another look at your wounds," He announced. Edgar sighed and nodded before moving to pull the dirty tunic off. Every inch of movement looked painful, and he was certainly taking his time about it. Merlin stepped forward quickly and, without thinking, placed a hand on his shoulder to stop the pained action. Edgar looked up at him sharply and Merlin cleared his throat in sudden discomfort. "I can just lift the shirt off your back, no need to remove it completely."

After a moment Edgar nodded in agreement and bowed his head, letting his hands fall into his lap.

Merlin moved behind him and did as he said, pushing the fabric up and away until the entire back was exposed. It only needed a little cleaning and he lathered on the poultice again, before letting the shirt fall back into place.

"It's looking better."

"It hurts more than a severe lance blow," the prisoner declared. Merlin couldn't agree to that, seeing as he'd never jousted and had absolutely no inclination to ever try, despite Arthur trying to force him to learn so he could use him for practice (target practice more like). He didn't respond, casting his eyes about the room instead.

He saw that a bucket had been added for waste, and an empty wooden mug was rolled up against the wall near the door. Beside it were a few slices of old bread, clearly untouched and with no intention of being approached any time soon. Merlin frowned.

"You need to eat," he declared and startled slightly at the disgusted snort he got in response.

"Not even rats would eat that," he proclaimed and there was really no arguing the point because looking at the meal Merlin was pretty sure that was true. Still…

"You need to keep up your strength."

"Yes, and that," he nodded in the direction of the bread, "is not going to help me in that task. Why are you so concerned anyhow? You think of me as an enemy, one that tried to kill your Prince," he spat the words out in distaste. "You shouldn't be helping me like this," he gestured carefully at his torso, whether to indicate his injuries or his tunic or both Merlin had no idea. He supposed it didn't really matter.

"The Prince has ordered it, or I would not be here," he reminded and Edgar nodded, looking even more miserable than before, casting his eyes about his tiny cell.

"Tell me Merlin, if your Prince ordered you to jump off a cliff, would you do so?"

"Of course not," he found himself rolling his eyes. "Though Arthur would probably jump off the cliff first if he deemed it necessary, and then I'd have to follow to keep the git out of trouble…" he stopped his rambling the moment he realized what he was saying and stood abruptly. "I must go," he announced and headed to the door, stopping to grab his pack and the flickering torch.

"Merlin," Edgar called out and he turned around, unable to ignore the request. "What do you see, when you look at me?" He asked imploringly from his spot on the floor. Merlin opened his mouth to reply, and then hesitated. He stared a moment and swallowed thickly, before shaking away his uncertainty.

"I see King Edgar Baranak," he said softly, "an impostor and traitor to the crown of Camelot."

"Are you absolutely certain?" the seated man asked. Merlin turned and left the cell, taking the torch with him and feeling guilty for leaving the prisoner once more in the pitch black.

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	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Four

"The prisoner is secured sire," a guard announced as they stepped over the threshold of the dirty cell and back into the brighter room beyond. Prince Arthur stood tall as he acknowledged their words, the silver studs on his tunic flashing orange and yellow in the dungeons bright firelight. The darkness of his clothes and his hair made his skin appear almost alabaster, his eyes glittered with an emotion they couldn't decipher and didn't try to; it wasn't their place.

"Very well," he looked towards the cell door that was left wide open, "Leave us, I wish for a private audience."

When one knight looked uncertain by this, even going so far as to step forward to declare his discomfort Arthur turned sharp angry eyes upon him. The protest died on the armour clad mans lips, and instead he bowed his head before they both took their leave. The one that had been reluctant casting doubtful eyes upon the Prince's manservant as he passed, but the object of his gaze did not notice.

Once their steps could no longer be heard the prince and his servant stepped forward into the cell, and the site that greeted them pleased him to no end. The light from three torches made it impossible to ignore the anger simmering on the face of the man shackled to the ground by his wrists, no spare chain to move with. The prince laughed.

"My, how the mighty have fallen," he sneered, circling the prisoner once to take in the glorious sight before coming to stand in front of him.

"Do not be so sure," the man on his knees growled, jerking at his chains. "For the fallen have a habit of rising to their feet once again."

"Not this time," the prince laughed, his gaze shifting, noting the uneaten, mouldy bread and the smell of sickness about the closed room. "It's rather pathetic in here, isn't it? I do apologize for the lack of appropriate accommodation normally suited to one of your stature, but I'm afraid we were all booked up." His servant chuckled behind him but fell silent when the true Arthur shifted his penetrating gaze upon him. He let it linger darkly a moment, memorizing his face, before focusing once again on the servant's master.

"I will see your life ended swiftly for this Edgar, mark my words," Arthur growled from his knees, shoulders bowed from the restraints and Edgar's eyes narrowed, not looking cowed in the least.

"I understand that Morgana stopped by to see you this afternoon," he said, tapping at his lips thoughtfully a moment. "She is just as striking as I remember her being at the banquet those long months ago, from childhood even. Perhaps I shall pay her a visit later, see how she is handling the _deception_ you forced upon everyone."

"You will stay away from Morgana," Arthur hissed and jerked at his chains, the metal biting sharply into his wrists and his back flared in pain from the action. "If you touch her in any way-"

"You'll what?" Edgar asked harshly, moving swiftly to stand closer to Arthur, glaring down. "You'll tell them that you're the _true prince_, that I'm the impostor in this scenario? After all this," he gestured at the room, at the shackles, and the world at large, "you think they'd begin to believe you now?"

"I have never made intentions towards Morgana," Arthur spat, "She is nothing more than a sister, and should you act she would see right through your veneer."

"I highly doubt that," Edgar grinned, and then reached out, gripping Arthur's jaw firmly. Arthur tried to jerk away, but had no leverage or room to move. He glared up defiantly instead, venom clear, and Edgar smiled cruelly. "But we both know she isn't the one that truly holds my attentions. She never has been." Arthur tried to jerk away again, and this time Edgar allowed it, his fingers trailing along the stubbled jaw before retreating fully.

"Your presence here is a lie, and the truth of your actions will be revealed. Cease this trickery now, and I shall grant you your life," Arthur's disgust was clear, but so was the truth behind the words. From anyone else they might sound desperate. Edgar stared down at him a long moment, the silence tense and their long history of distrust and jealousy evident.

"Always the righteous," Edgar scorned, "Always the proud, but I told you one day I would take your place and you scoffed. Your arrogance astounds me," Edgar decided and Arthur barked with laughter at that.

"_My_ arrogance? My arrogance has been earned through a lifetime of duty and sacrifice while you spent your days spending your kingdom's gold on parties and luxuriating in frivolity. You have no idea what it takes to rule, and with the actions you have taken here it is clear to me exactly what kind of ruler you would be. With you on the throne Camelot would become nothing more than ashes, its greatness a memory, its honour a myth!"

Edgar's arm snapped out, his hand winding into Arthur's dirty hair and he forced his head back until his neck stood out in relief, his breath labouring in heavy pants through his nose. Sill Arthur glared at him, and Edgar pushed him back until he couldn't hide the grimace of pain.

A long moment later he released Arthur roughly and stood back.

"I will see you later _Arthur_," he announced, the threat clear as he twisted about to depart, his servant following dutifully. They left the door open, teasing in its suggestion of freedom. When he was certain that his enemy would not return Arthur crumpled in on himself, the pain of his injuries almost too much. He shifted to lie on his side in the dirt, forcing his breathing to calm, willing away the pain.

In silence he waited for what would happen next.

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On the fourth day of Arthur's return gossip was still ripe amongst the people of Camelot. Merlin felt as though he was being accosted everywhere he went with people constantly pulling up beside him to ask on the state of their prince. Apparently news of his sacking hadn't filtered down to the general populace yet, and it was beginning to wear on him to the point that he only went on rounds for Gaius if the man deemed it completely necessary. Fortunately his mentor understood his situation and was showing his normal level of compassion, having Merlin remain within their rooms, scrubbing clean all the pots for the ample jars of remedies he had been preparing the last few days.

Now, coming back from a public audience with his majesties, Merlin felt no better than he had four days before when Arthur had first barely acknowledged him. It didn't help that during this meet even Uther had looked between his son and Merlin with a slight frown before opening the talks. Thankfully he had not yet agreed to invading Baranak's land, but it was clear he still hadn't completely dismissed the idea, and Arthur was still pushing for it.

Arthur's insistence on the matter was truly beginning to annoy Merlin, despite the fact that he only saw the prince maybe once or twice a day now. If he was lucky.

"Merlin?" A familiar, authoritative voice called out to him and he stopped in the middle of the hall, nearly causing a collision with a fellow that had been walking too closely behind. He looked back from where he had come to find Morgana gazing at him imploringly. He sighed to himself and headed back towards her.

"My Lady, how can I help you?"

"Walk with me," she intoned, looking him over with a slight frown before leading them off into a hall less traveled. It was only moments later when she pushed him into a room devoid of people, though he felt a bit surrounded by the mass of armoured dummies that were on display. He looked at her, waiting, and she looked back at him with a frown.

"Are you all right Merlin?" She asked, concern apparent in her voice and he was instantly embarrassed that she would feel the need to ask that.

"Of course. I'm fine," he said quickly and she frowned at him even more.

"You're looking more pale every day that passes. Are you certain you're not coming ill?"

"I'm certain," he insisted and then tried to shrug the tenseness from his shoulders. "I've just had a headache these last few days that's beginning to wear on me. It will pass soon," he hoped. Though he was beginning to doubt it would ever leave him in peace. She didn't look as though she believed him any more than he did himself, but she let it go with one more concerned look.

"I was hoping to speak with you about Arthur," she announced and he couldn't help frowning, bringing a hand up to rub at his temple.

"Morgana, I am no longer Prince Arthur's manservant. I have barely seen him these past days and am not certain I can answer any questions you may have." She frowned at this.

"Still? I was certain he would have hired you back by now."

"So was I," he agreed morosely and then remembered his place. "But it is no matter. I can be of use to him in ways that don't require cleaning his laundry and polishing his armour." She looked away at that, and it was then that he noticed she had a pinched look about her eyes. "Is everything all right with you?"

"Yes, fine." She agreed quickly and when he continued to watch her with what he hoped were imploring eyes she gave a small smile and sighed. "Though I have had trouble sleeping these last few nights."

"Nightmares?" He asked, knowing that sometimes Gaius's potions did little to help her.

"It's silly," she agreed and walked to look out the window. He followed her gaze down to the training yard, watching many knights practicing their drills with Arthur standing off to the side, barking out orders. "But I can't help fearing the truth in them."

"What are they about?"

"I dreamed that Arthur, in place of Edgar, was beheaded on the block. It was terrible. He proclaimed his innocence the entire time, and we just stood by and watched, deaf to his pleas." Merlin's breath caught in his throat and he looked at her. Her eyes were moist but she refused to let the tears fall. "It was horrible. And then Camelot was slowly burning, and one by one everyone we ever cared about fell to an enemy that was once ally." She took a deep calming breath, and another, before he gently touched her arm.

"That will not happen Morgana. Arthur would never allow it."

"But what if he has no choice?" She asked, and her shoulders straightened as she locked away her emotion once more.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," she looked him in the eyes. "What if we're wrong?"

"Wrong? About Arthur?"

"About whom he says he is," she looked back out as Arthur continued to stand on the sidelines, telling instead of showing his instructions.

"Morgana, what you're saying is treason," Merlin gasped, but his chest constricted at the thought, for it was something he had been contemplating too long as well. "If you speak of this to the wrong person…"

"Then they would report it, I know." She looked so sad then. "I know with my head, and with my eyes that Arthur stands before us, training his knights. But my heart…" she trailed off.

"Is not so quick to agree," he finished for her.

"Yes," she said. "You feel this?"

"It is not my place to say my Lady," he looked to the floor, hands clenching at his sides.

"But it is," she rested a hand upon his shoulder, the rings adorning it flashing their colours as she moved. "I have known Arthur my whole life, yet it is becoming more and more apparent to me that he has never _truly_ allowed me to know him. He rarely drops his guard, and his laughter is always forced, as though he gives it because it's expected. I never understood that before, but now, when I observe him, I see that he is changed. His duties grow heavier, and his heart grows truer. His laughter is, perhaps for the first time, felt, and it affects everything he does."

"Perhaps, but I-"

"You, I believe, have a great deal more to do with it than you give either of yourselves credit for." Her hand tightened. "I do not claim to know everything the two of you have gone through together, but I know he trusts you, perhaps even with his life. Would you not trust yours to him?"

"Of course, without question," he declared, because it was true and Arthur had proven it countless times.

"And do you feel that same bond with the man before you?" She pushed him until he was gazing once more out the window. No, he didn't. But he really felt as though he should, and the more he doubted it the more his head clouded. He closed his eyes briefly in pain.

"Merlin? Are you all right?" He heard her ask him again, worry apparent and if anyone had asked him a year ago if he ever believed he could hold the confidence and concern of such a woman he would have laughed. Now, he feared, he was becoming accustomed to it. He tried on a tight smile and opened his eyes.

"I'm fine, really." He insisted, and took a breath. "What you are saying, it humbles me Morgana, and I can't deny it. For a servant such as me…"

"You are much more than a mere servant Merlin, and you have been from the start, regardless of how he sometimes treats you."

"Perhaps. I cannot say that I can agree with certainty yet of what you are implying. If we were to be wrong, and that the one we believe is Arthur truly is, then the level of our betrayal would be unsurpassable." And the thought terrified him, because he did believe in Arthur, more than he ever had in anyone really, despite him being a massive prat. The doubt he now felt was almost too heavy to bear.

"And what of the prisoner? What has he had to say to you in all this?" She asked quietly.

"He continues to insist that he is the true Arthur," she turned away, her torment apparent. "And asks me to believe him every time I visit." His persistence was actually beginning to torment Merlin in a way that only Arthur had ever been capable of achieving.

"Then you have a heavy decision to make," she decreed and he looked at her, startled.

"Me? What about you? You're the one who pulled me in here to enlighten me with your thoughts!"

"Yes, but I am too far removed from him to be certain." She took a deep breath. "The decision you make will ultimately be the one I shall follow Merlin. I am trusting you with this task." And then she turned and left him, the deep blue fabric of her dress flowing extravagantly behind her as she fled the room.

"That's hardly fair," he muttered, watching after her a long moment. It was all good and easy to impart your thoughts when you could simply heap the responsibility on another, he thought angrily. Then he sighed in resignation, because he had already known instinctively that when the time came he would be the one to decide how to act. Whatever concerned Arthur was ultimately his responsibility, regardless of the fact that he was the only one who was truly aware of this.

With the exception of a Camelot that would accept magic freely, he wouldn't have it any other way.

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"Come with me," the rough voice reached his ears at the very moment that a steely grip encompassed his upper arm and before he could think to protest Merlin was being dragged down the road. He was pushed into the shadow of a private alcove, hidden from the prying eyes on the streets and blocking a good deal of the evenings light from him. He opened his mouth to protest loudly, when the hand suddenly released him just as suddenly as it latched on and the imposing figure took a step back. Merlin looked into his face.

"Sir Kay?" he squeaked, and cleared his throat. The massive man looked down at him, his patrol armour creaking slightly with the movement. His eyes were shadowed and he glanced over his shoulder to check that they hadn't been followed. Merlin stole that moment to straighten up from his slump against the wall.

"Is something wrong?" He asked the knight and Kay turned back to him, a frown on his face.

"If anyone were to find out that we have been speaking there would be suspicions. Do you understand?"

"Yes, keep my mouth shut. Got it. I'm surprisingly good at that," he elaborated, his nervousness apparent. He couldn't help it. While Arthur's knights had, on occasion, acknowledged him and even deigned to speak with him when Merlin was passing messages on for Arthur, one had never sought him out directly before. He was shocked when Sir Kay actually grinned at him, though it lasted but a moment and was sharper than necessary.

"Yes, you would have to be to remain as Arthur's personal manservant for so long," he agreed, and Merlin sighed.

"I'm not his manservant anymore," he explained tiredly and was surprised when Sir Kay simply waved the comment off.

"It is of no matter at this moment."

"What is the matter then?"

"I am a Knight of Camelot," the man announced, as if Merlin and everyone else within Camelot was unaware of that. Sir Kay was one of Arthur's most distinguished warriors, almost matching the prince in skill. Also, the massive red cape kind of gave it away. "And as such I have pledged my loyalty and my life to protect the throne and the people." He looked down at the ground, eyes troubled.

"I have not heard of anyone doubting your allegiance, if that is what concerns you," Merlin hedged, completely baffled by this meeting.

"It is not," he remarked, almost off hand as though the chances of that ever happening were impossible. "I do have concerns about the Prince, however." Merlin's stomach plummeted and he stood taller, instantly ready to attack.

"What about Arthur?" He snapped. The knight looked at him a long moment, assessing and Merlin stared back. Sir Kay sighed.

"I fear he has not yet recovered from his imprisonment," he hushed out and looked over his shoulder again before moving closer to Merlin, invading his personal space. "It injures me to say that I worry for his judgement at the moment." And the omission actually did look like it physically hurt the man.

"In what way?" Merlin asked, lowering his voice to match the knights.

"His actions towards the prisoner are created through anger. He withholds the execution, which he is not normally want to do, for the sake of tormenting his enemy."

"What are you trying to tell me?" Merlin asked instantly, not caring to hear the man spout on about his prince's honour when it was obvious something had happened. His impatience must have been apparent in his tone because Sir Kay narrowed his eyes at him a moment, and then stepped back.

"The prisoner should be checked upon at your convenience," he declared. "And when you choose to drop by, you may wish to be carrying burn ointment with you." He turned to move from the alcove and paused once more. "Remember, we never spoke." Merlin stared at where the tall knight had been moments before.

Burn ointment?

He sucked in a breath.

Burn ointment. Right. Merlin moved back to his and Gaius's chambers as fast as he could without causing suspicion, upon which he grabbed the recommended items and a few other things before rushing off to the dungeons. He was becoming so familiar with the path that he felt he could traverse it with his eyes closed by now, and the thought did nothing to comfort him.

"I have come to treat the prisoner," he announced when the same guard that always gave him a hassle stepped forth to block his path. The man looked at him a moment longer and sneered (which may have been an attempt at a smile).

"You know where he is," he gestured grandly and stepped aside. Merlin wasted no time, pulling the dead bolts on the heavy door back himself and taking two torches in with him. His patient lay on his side on the floor, shackled in place by the wrists. He turned his head away and closed his eyes at the sudden brightness, but turned back almost as quickly, blinking away the shine to face whomever was tormenting him this time. The look on his face was pure defiance. Mingled with pain.

"What have they done to you now?" Merlin asked, placing the torches and dropping to his knees before the tethered man.

"We had a simple conversation about the rightful heir to Camelot." He punched out through clenched teeth. "Apparently the current _prince_ disagrees with my opinions."

"Where are you hurt?" Merlin couldn't see any marks on his arms, other than the rubbed skin and bruises encircling his trapped wrists. He reached out to them, his hands shaking slightly and pulled back, remembering himself.

"It doesn't matter," the man growled out, looking away.

"It does matter you prat," Merlin glared down at him, and then his eyes caught on the man's torso, where the shirt was revealing a sliver of skin. He swallowed thickly at the sight, and moved his hands to the fabric. No effort was made to stop him as he peeled it back, though a flinch of pain was unavoidable as the shirt caught on the damaged flesh.

"Arthur," Merlin said softly and reached his hand out, almost but not quite touching the seared flesh. It was unmistakably the crest of Camelot, though the bubbled flesh and black patches made it ugly and lacking in definition. It was terrible.

"_What_ did you just call me?" The man hissed and Merlin jerked back, nearly dropping the material back over the wound. He caught himself just in time and looked over to find the piercing blue eyes staring at him. Familiar eyes, eyes he had grown to trust, though his mind was trying to tell him this wasn't the case.

The pain in his head intensified at this realization and he took a breath at his vision clouded black, forcing it back.

"I called you Arthur," he said softly, after taking a few deep breaths to regain control of himself. "Have they damaged your hearing as well?" His question was meant in jest, but the concern was real. Arthur stared at him a moment longer, dirt tracking his cheeks and his hair beginning to clump with uncleanliness.

Art by: Eppy7

Then the git actually laughed, a sharp bark of sound that cut through the air. It was unmistakeably amused and relieved.

"What's the problem here?" The guard appeared in the doorway, glaring down at them. His eyes lingered on Arthur's revealed midriff and Arthur tensed immediately, pulling instinctively at his chains. Merlin had the impression that were he not secured he would have launched himself at the guard in attack.

"No problem," Merlin hastily explained, and then turned to his bag to look as though he were busy with his healing duties. "I fear the pain is leading to madness," he announced. Arthur didn't disagree with him, but he felt his princes irritated gaze fall back on him nonetheless. Appropriately distracted.

"Well hurry up then, I haven't got all night," the man intoned and disappeared, his armour clanking slightly as he walked away.

"I may have to disband him when this is over," Arthur announced, anger simmering in his voice and he sucked in a breath as Merlin began pouring water over his wound. "A little warning next time Merlin," he ground out and Merlin apologized hastily. Then he apologized some more as he went about picking off the dead, blackened bits of flesh that would only hurt Arthur more were they left in place to infect his body. Arthur merely closed his eyes and exhaled sharply when Merlin finally smeared the ointment gently over the ragged, wheeping wounds.

"This shouldn't leave too much of a scar," he announced softly and hoped he was right as he moved to Arthur's back and gently pushed the fabric out of his way once more. The wounds were just as horrible as before, crisscrossing his back, raised and slightly swollen and still weeping red in places. A few of his stitches had been torn loose, blood soaking into the shirt once more, and Merlin wondered at the struggle Arthur must have put into place to avoid being branded. Like an animal. Property.

Yes, the wounds were still horrible, but now…now they encouraged a deep pit of rage within Merlin.

"I'll kill him," he muttered softly as he brushed gentle fingertips down what had once been smooth flesh, pushing cream where it needed to go.

"You?" Arthur snorted, trying to calm his breathing from the pain Merlin was unintentionally causing. "You and what army Merlin?"

"I don't need an army," he vowed, eyes flashing golden for a moment before he brought his magic under control.

"Right," Arthur responded, still sounding amused at the prospect. "Well, as noble as the gesture is, I would have you stay away from him," he announced and there was no mistaking the order in his tone. "_Far_ away." He went silent as Merlin finished, and it was heavy and threatening. Merlin moved back to crouch before him, finally reaching out to examine his wrists. Arthur let him without protest, and when Merlin looked up to his face it was to see the man staring intently at their hands. His fingertips twitched, brushing against Merlin's wrists momentarily, before stilling. Merlin's flesh tingled where they had touched, and he swallowed thickly as he pulled back. He'd done all he could for now.

"I have some food for you," he whispered, reaching into his bag to pull out the fresh bread and cheese he had taken from his own table. Arthur eyed it, frowning, and looked away. "I know it's not exactly roast pheasant, but at least it's something," he defended, feeling as though he'd failed somehow and Arthur looked up at him, his frown deepening.

"It's not that Merlin," he sighed. "I just…I'm not hungry at the moment."

"Bollocks. It's been days since you've eaten no doubt, and you need to keep up your strength for when I get you out of here."

"Merlin, I'm not going to-" Merlin shoved a little piece of the bread in his mouth and glared down at him.

"Eat it, or I guarantee the next royal meal I cook for you will be worse than the rat stew." Arthur glared, chewed, swallowed and opened his mouth.

"If you know what's-" Merlin shoved cheese in this time, his fingers brushing Arthur's lips. They both froze and Merlin looked away first.

"You need to keep up your strength sire," he said again softly. Arthur didn't protest after that, instead taking the bread from Merlin and finally feeding himself, though very unenthusiastically.

"I will have you fired for that," he threatened without any heat after he had finally finished and Merlin snorted.

"Too late, you already have." Arthur shifted and froze as the pain no doubt affected him. After a moment he continued to shift until he was again on his knees and looking Merlin in the eye. He tried to make as though the actions weren't agony. He was far too proud for his own good, Merlin thought.

"Well, at least he's done something right in my place."

"Prat," Merlin muttered.

"What was that?" Arthur asked mildly, and Merlin didn't answer, instead reaching up to rub at his painfully aching head. "Merlin? Are you all right?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" He muttered, and looked over when Arthur moved, trying to reach out to him with his hands and swearing when they remained locked down.

"Because you look almost as bad as I'm sure I do."

"I'm not sure anyone could look as poorly as you do right now without being dead," Merlin moved to pack his belongings.

"What's wrong?" Arthur asked instead, ignoring the jibe. "Your head? Is it from being around me?" Merlin looked over at that. He sometimes forgot how perceptive Arthur could be, considering the man held so many things close to heart.

"It may be," he sighed. "It's one of the reasons that I believe that you are who you say you are. Only youcould possibly be this much of a pain to be around," he announced and Arthur glared. "Honestly though, it hurt less to be around you before, when I thought you were Edgar. I think that choosing to believe you over the curse is somehow causing this."

"Yes, that's what I said," Arthur declared, but his tone wasn't as haughty as it normally might be. "You may leave now," he announced abruptly, and leaned away from Merlin, which only then clued the young sorcerer in to how close they had been. "I'll need you to determine how Edgar has turned the entire kingdom against me, and you can't do that while you're sitting around here." Merlin was certain that if Arthur could he would have waved him off.

"Can I…is there anything else I can do for you?" Merlin asked, and despite the throbbing of his brain he was loath to leave.

"You've done enough," Arthur implored, and was now avoiding Merlin's eyes. Merlin stared a moment and then stood, looking down upon his friend. "I'm going to get you out of here Arthur," he quietly stated boldly, and then moved towards the door.

"Merlin?" Arthur spoke softly just before he reached it and, like so many times before, Merlin turned to him in question. "Thank you," Arthur intoned. "For believing in me."

"What else could I do?" he asked, and then left before Arthur could form an answer.

"I'll be back later," he announced to the guard who watched him leave with hooded eyes. Merlin didn't wait for a response.

He had work to do.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Five

Merlin began stalking Edgar after that, trying to remain inconspicuous as he followed him about the castle and courtyards the entire next day. He felt he had been doing a decent job of it too. Gaius had been particularly unimpressed when Merlin had stated that he couldn't help him that day because he had tasks to accomplish that he was unable to disclose.

As the hours had passed however, he had accomplished nothing but building a swell of anger and hate towards the man that he had to forcefully (and continually) remind himself was _not_ Arthur every time he looked at him. _Edgar_ strutted around like the king peacock, feathers on display everywhere he went. It was sickening; and what was worse was that people didn't seem to notice that anything was wrong.

They followed his orders without question.

They bent over backwards to please him.

They displayed trust in him that Arthur had spent a lifetime earning, and he just soaked it up like a greedy, glutinous sponge.

Merlin had been very serious when he told Arthur he would kill this man for him, and his fingers itched with curses that could bring about his end. If he hurt Arthur again, Merlin was fairly certain that he would tear him limb from limb regardless of his orders.

Still, when the two guards had approached him and then marched him to stand before Edgar later that evening, Merlin had been slightly surprised. Behind the masquerading Prince was his equally masquerading servant _Stephen_, eyes watchful as they settled on Merlin.

"Well?" Edgar asked impatiently. "What have you to say for yourself?" he demanded and Merlin looked about the great hall as several people stopped what they were doing to watch. His face flamed red in anger, though it could just as easily be mistaken as humiliation.

"About what Sire?" he asked, and the man narrowed his eyes at him, his servant adding a glare of his own. Pompous little snake.

"About this business of you following me everywhere," he implored, loudly.

"Oh come off it Arthur," Morgana suddenly appeared from nowhere, a dark haired angel of mercy. "He's just trying to make sure that you're okay." Arthur-_Edgar-_ turned a glare on her, very clearly displeased.

"The boy can answer for himself Morgana," he bit back and turned back to face Merlin, who stood uneasily between the two knights that had escorted him here. "Unless he's lost what little wit he had." Merlin blinked at him, because that was actually a very Arthurian thing to say. "Well?" he demanded, impatience dripping from his voice. Merlin adopted his best timid look and bowed his head.

"I apologize if I came across as suspicious Sire," he said, just loud enough for those nearest to hear. "I only wished to make sure that you were truly feeling better."

"You see?" Morgana intoned mildly. "You had him trailing after you like a well trained dog for the last year, seeing to your every need. Is it really surprising now that he remains concerned, despite no longer being your manservant?"

Arthur-_Edgar, curse it!-_ looked to her, and then to Merlin again for a long moment, before sighing in annoyance and shaking his head.

"You may go," he asserted and waved Merlin away. "But cease your actions immediately or I'll have you thrown in the stocks."

"Yes Sire. I apologize for any discomfort I may have caused," Merlin bowed his head to hide the anger he felt boiling beneath his skin. It warred with the uneasy tightness that had been plaguing him since Edgar's arrival. He didn't get much chance to do or say anything else as Sir Kay gripped his arm and dragged him from the hall and back outside. He released him only when they were well clear of Edgar's sights.

"Are you daft? I implore that I feel he is suffering ill affects and you feel the need to blatantly follow him around? Where is your common sense?" he hissed and shook his head before pinching the bridge of his nose. Merlin stared at him a moment, and then looked over his shoulder to see Morgana and Gwen leaving the building. Morgana looked at him pointedly and he sighed.

Well to be fair he had thought he'd been doing a decent job at remaining inconspicuous.

"Right, won't happen again," he announced, clapping Sir Kay on the shoulder absently as he stepped passed the man to follow the women. He didn't notice the slightly taken aback look Kay followed him with, nor would he have cared if he had. He followed the ladies all the way to Morgana's chambers and slipped quietly through the open door.

Gwen closed it quickly behind him.

"Have you gone mad?" Morgana demanded immediately, her deep green dress flowing about her as she whirled on him.

"It's quite possible yes!" he snapped back, and then collapsed on the nearest sofa, holding his head in his hands. There was a moment of stunned silence and he looked up to see them watching him warily. Gwen silently poured a cup of water and brought it to him and he drank it all down at once, taking the moment to gather his thoughts. He smiled tiredly at her as he handed it back, and ran a hand through his flopping hair.

"What was it all about than?" Morgana asked, pulling a chair to sit before him as Gwen perched next to him on the small couch, placing a hand on his knee in comfort. He thought about Arthur, alone, cold and in pain, chained to the floor in darkness. Red, weeping scars crossing angrily over his entire back and shoulders. Scorched flesh and burnt hair across his torso. Merlin clenched his fists. Morgana placed her own hand over his. "Merlin?"

"Did you mean what you said earlier Morgana? About being willing to follow my decision without question?"

"I did, and I still do," she declared slowly.

"And what of you Gwen? Do you know of what we speak?"

"Yes," she said and took a deep breath. "Though I am not sure I can believe what has been implied. When I look at Arthur, there is not a question in my mind that he is who he says he is." She took another deep breath. "That being said, I trust you both to know of what you're saying. If you tell me that the man walking amongst us as Arthur is in fact not our prince, then I shall believe you on your word."

It was a bit humbling to have them looking to him for answers and trusting him implicitly. He didn't want to involve them in this.

"Merlin," Morgana prodded at his hand after a moment and sat straighter when he looked at her. "What have you learned?"

"Arthur is currently shackled to the floor in the dungeons," he closed his eyes against their stricken faces. "The man currently being viewed as Arthur is the true Edgar Baranak."

There was a long, heavy moment of silence in which Merlin didn't look at them. If they choose not to believe him after all…if they doubted him he didn't know what he would do. The only thing he knew for certain was that Arthur was his priority.

"How is that possible?" Gwen questioned, shifting closer to him a moment, perhaps in comfort, and he shook his head in disgust at the situation.

"It would not be the first time that magic has been used against us as a weapon." And every time he was confronted with the darker side of his abilities he could understand, bitterly, why Uther was so fearful of it.

"Okay," Morgana stood and moved swiftly to the other side of the room to look out the narrow window. "How are we going to get him out?"

Relief flooded him. He looked at Gwen, who had adopted that look of determination that made her such a strong woman. The look that had carried her through her father's death and had stood by Merlin's side as he'd defended his birthplace from tyrants.

"I need to learn how Edgar is doing this."

"Is that why you were following him about all day?" Gwen asked, moving to get herself a drink of water now.

"I wasn't that obvious was I?" he asked, slightly mortified. He had thought he'd been nearly invisible.

"You're obviously exhausted," Morgana excused for him, coming again to sit in the chair. "But none of that matters now. Did you discover anything?"

"Not a thing," he groaned and flopped back into the cushions, rubbing at his temples. "And with the way he has his guard following him around I can't get near him."

"What about his servant?" Gwen wondered, and turned bright eyes on him. "He's always running about the castle, poking his nose around as he does Arthur's-" she cut off and shook her head, eyes pinched. "As he does Edgar's bidding. I'll bet you could find him wandering about alone somewhere."

"I could," he announced, and sat forward, nearly bumping heads with Morgana. He muttered an apology absently as he began to rub his hands together. He hadn't even thought about approaching the servant, but of course it made sense! Merlin should know as much as anybody that a close servant was bound to always know the more intimate minutiae of their master.

"And how would you get him to speak?" Morgana asked. "I doubt he'd be willing to spill the truth just because you demand it, and revealing to him that you are aware of their plot will only get you killed. We have to remember that everyone else truly believes he is Arthur. They will follow his order and protect him without question."

"And even if he tells you how they managed it, what if there is no way to break the spell?" Gwen asked.

Merlin looked at her a long moment, and then stood abruptly, not answering her question.

"I've got an idea," he announced and looked between them. "And I think it will work."

"What is it?" Gwen asked and Merlin hesitated in answering.

"I…can't tell you."

They looked at him, and exchanged a look between themselves that was far too knowing for his liking, instantly making him uneasy.

"Very well," Morgana allowed and moved aside for him to pass. "But please be careful Merlin. Arthur and I have known Edgar from when we were young, and he is far from an honourable man. After his actions here there is no telling how far he will be willing to go to maintain this treachery." He nodded, because of course he would be careful, and looked between them both. "We'll be ready when you need us," Morgana finished.

He just hoped that when he needed them it would not already be too late.

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He'd of course gone to check on Arthur later that night. The Prince had tried so hard to pretend that everything was all right, as though he merely had a few scratches on his back and the blistered, raw brand on his midriff was nothing more than a minor sunburn.

"The hair will grow back Merlin," he'd huffed teasingly from cracked lips as Merlin's fingers had lingered, wanting to heal but unable to do more without the use of magic. Merlin had failed to come out with a rejoinder, because he had absolutely no idea what he could possibly say to that. Arthur was chained to the floor, beaten almost to death and he'd been trying to make Merlin feel better.

It had turned out that Merlin wouldn't have been able to retort anyway, as the guard that watched Arthur every night had moved to stand in the door then. Merlin had his back to him, but he'd been able to tell by the quick warning look Arthur had flashed, that their privacy was no longer guaranteed.

"Are you finished here?" He asked, his voice rumbling around them and sending shivers of unease up Merlin's spine. He'd twisted to look at the man but the guard seemed uninterested in him, staring instead at Arthur. Merlin turned back to Arthur to find all mirth and ease that he had been presenting for Merlin wiped clean from his face. In its place was a stony, emotionless mask, his eyes cold.

"Enjoying the view Darcel," Arthur had hissed, practically baring his teeth in a challenge that Merlin had known would not go ignored unless he intervened.

"Just about," Merlin quickly cut in uncertainly, and when neither man acknowledged his response he'd carefully lowered Arthur's shirt back into place and gathered the few ointment jars he had pulled out. Standing up he'd made one last visual check of his friend, glad that he'd forced him to quickly drink and eat before he'd tended his wounds. It wasn't nearly enough, but at least it would sustain him.

Arthur had ignored him completely as he walked away. Merlin had had to slide by Darcel to get through the door, but he'd only made it a few steps before his rough voice reached his ears again.

"The Prince came by today," he announced and Merlin had turned sharply, disappointed for a moment that he couldn't see Arthur through the stone to glare at him. That was something the man had failed to inform him of. "He thinks the prisoner has received more than enough of your tender mercies. You are not to come back."

His stomach had turned to ice and he had been certain that his feet had turned to rock, unwilling to move a step further away as soon as he'd known that he wasn't to come back.

"But the prisoner-"

"Will survive until his execution just fine." The guard had cut him off, and he sounded far too happy to be delivering the news.

"Very well," Merlin croaked out, but he had merely been waved off as Darcel had clearly been much more interested in staring at Arthur. Merlin had moved to the corridor and stepped passed the bend, then stopped and peeked back around.

It had been several long minutes before Merlin had watched the guard snort and finally move to close the cell's door, leaving Arthur to his own devices.

Merlin had ducked back into the corridor and moved as quietly as he was able back to the main dungeons and then out into the chill night air. He'd shivered.

Time felt as though it were closing in around him, and the pain within him was becoming more pronounced as the days wore on.

He didn't like that guard, he made the hair stand up on his neck and his stomach flip with sickness.

It was time to get Arthur out.

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The next morning he couldn't escape from Gaius's tasks, the physician more concerned than ever about the volume of his potions as it looked more likely that Camelot would ride against Baranak's reign every hour that passed. He had Merlin brewing like a madman, even allowing him to use magic to clean and mend his jars and crockery for the medicine's he would need should they step into battle.

Despite this fear Merlin was distracted (understandably) in his duties as his thoughts kept drifting to Arthur. He was far from well, and it was obvious that he was not being treated with gentle hands despite his injuries. Merlin's own hands shook in anger every time he remembered the mockery of Camelot's crest seared into pale skin. The stripes of angry red flesh that could become infected at any time. The threat of fever. The threat of the cold damp that surrounded him.

The way Darcel stared at Arthur for long, silent minutes.

His fingers slipped and he dropped his third jar that morning (thankfully empty) and Gaius very calmly looked over from his cauldron. "The idea of the horror that can be inflicted in battle is enough to rattle anyone's nerves my boy," he had said kindly, despite an undertone of impatience and Merlin hastily mended the glass with a few quick words. He shrugged in apology and went about pouring the recently concocted pain relief liquid into the mass of vials. They worked silently while he finished stuffing the corks into place and began carefully packing the jars into the wooden box set aside for them. It was already half filled, straw padding sticking into his fingers as he worked.

"Gaius," he pushed the jars closer together and tried to fit an extra one into the row. "How did he do it?" He knew without looking that the old physician had stopped his work at the boiling pot to look over with a frown.

"How did he do what my boy?" he asked and Merlin looked over to find that yes, Gaius was watching him with great attention, his one hand absently stirring the wooden spoon in the cauldron.

"You know-" Merlin hedged and worried that maybe he shouldn't be asking Gaius this question. If Gaius figured out why Merlin really wanted to know Merlin had no doubt that he would offer to help. The problem was the danger. If Merlin is wrong about Arthur, if he breaks him out and saves his life only to learn that he is indeed Baranak (despite his entire being telling him he isn't wrong) than he doesn't want any reason for Gaius to be tried as a traitor and killed for his aid. The girls were already far too implicated.

"I'm afraid I don't Merlin, you're going to have to use a few more descriptive words than that."

Oh sod it, Merlin needed to know and Gaius was the best source he knew how to get answers from. He would have to hope the man would simply be too distracted by his great labours to have the time to think too deeply about Merlin's inquiries.

"How did Baranak," he spit the name out with distaste, "convince us he was Arthur? What possible magic could he have used and how would such a spell be broken?" There was a moment of silence before Gaius sighed and went to move the bubbling pot off the fire. Merlin quickly stepped up and took it from him, lugging the ridiculously heavy thing across to the table and placing it on the hot rack.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by your question, only that you didn't ask days ago," he picked up a new box of jars and began setting them across the tables mostly even surface.

"We've been a bit busy," Merlin took over stirring duties, knowing that this salve was not to be kept still until it was placed in its final resting place. "I just can't imagine the amount of power that would go into a spell of this size! Even using memory tricks on one or two people is draining enough, but an entire kingdom? Of anybody that sets their eyes on him? It seems impossible."

"Most things are possible Merlin, as you should know by now," Gaius gave him a pointed look. "But you are right, a spell as powerful as the one Baranak used could only come from the dark forces, and after spending days thinking about it there's only one that I can think of that would work the way it did," a troubled look entered his eyes and he slammed a jar down forcefully, grimacing at the action and immediately checking the glass for damage. He wordlessly handed it to Merlin to fix the crack.

"And that was…" Merlin coaxed and Gaius's whole aura darkened.

"One that would involve the blood sacrifice of his first born child, one not long in the light."

"Blood sacrifice," Merlin wasn't sure he understood exactly what that meant.

"Murder is the more appropriate term," Gaius looked up at him and his bleak look softened at the shock Merlin wasn't attempting to hide. "It is a very old dark art and it was banished soon after its creation, but obviously those who practice in darkness also live in darkness."

"He killed his own child?" Merlin felt nauseated by the thought as Gaius nodded in affirmation.

"It would have had to take place at a cross roads on a full moon. Baranak would have needed to gain material from Arthur himself: a lock of hair, finger nails, blood, that sort of thing, and a silver blade with no impurities would have been needed to strike the final blow," Gaius paused and shook his head. "I cannot imagine the type of sorcerer who would so willingly slay a babe, truly they would have the darkest of hearts or be lost to the deepest madness."

"That's it? A murder with a special knife and a fingernail and we're all mindwashed into believing lies? Surely that can't be it?"

"Well no," Gaius's eyes refocused, coming back from wherever his mind had been carrying him and he pulled a ladle out to begin filling the jars with the goopy white salve. "It would take time to set in. An incubation period so to speak where both parties involved would need to remain alive. Once that time has passed however, the accursed person could be killed without breaking the spell, locking it forever into place. We're lucky Arthur escaped before it could truly take hold."

"How long does it take to set in?" Merlin's voice squeaked a bit, his chest flooded with the hollowness of fear that generally came with finally understanding the true direness of a situation.

"That is impossible to answer, as the caster sets the time. The longer the incubation, the stronger the hold but beyond that I can't answer the question," he sighed.

"How would you break such a spell?" Merlin needed to know and Gaius gave him another assessing look, a glob of salve missing the jar entirely and was ignored by them both.

"I suspect the only way to truly break it would be to kill the one it was cast for. Remove the imposter and you'll remove the enchantment."

"But," Merlin scrunched his brow at this, "if that's how you break it, than how could Arthur have revealed Edgar to us? Edgar is not yet dead." Gaius stopped what he was doing altogether and frowned. It became clear to Merlin that his mentor had not yet thought of this. It had to be the curse slowing his mind, along with the constant distraction of possible war.

"Well," his white brows furrowed deeply, "I must have mistaken something about the spell," he said slowly, his eyes shifting back and forth in thought before he looked over and met Merlin's eyes directly. He held the look for a long moment, searching for something from Merlin before abruptly turning back to his work and breaking his hold on the young man.

"Get some fresh air and come back with a clear head Merlin," he ordered, his gentle tone back in place. "All this talk of darkness shouldn't take place over healing remedies, it could damage the cure."

He hadn't needed to tell Merlin twice, and Merlin retreated from the heated room before Gaius could change his mind. He didn't notice the worried, contemplating gaze that followed him out the door before the healer went back to his work.

Merlin thought about going to the Dragon, and just as quickly rid himself of the notion. He relied too heavily on the creatures advice at times, and at the moment he didn't need anyone else's opinions clouding his judgement.

His head throbbed so insistently he felt as though his eyes might try to squeeze from his head.

Sir Kay ignored him completely as he passed by the new blacksmith's; the knight having a dent in his armour hammored out. Just off to the side of the knights training grounds wagons were being stocked with barrels and food supplies. Enough for the beginnings of an army.

He sucked in a heavy breath at the sight.

"Well, I say it's the right thing to do," a plump woman, bouncing a child on her hip off to his side announced loudly to her companion. "How they could be unaware of the fact that our Prince was rotting in their dungeon is unforgivable."

"That is a cruel thing to say," her companion chastised. "How could they have possibly been aware?"

"It doesn't matter. The things they did to poor Prince Arthur," the woman clucked despairingly, as though her own child had been the one held against their will.

"You have no idea what they did to the Prince," the younger woman scoffed, her eyes watching the wagon's as they were loaded, a frown on her lips. "None of us do, beyond the fact that he was held prisoner."

"Are you saying you don't agree with the Prince's decision? That he should just forgive them their actions against him? Against us all?"

"Of course not," the woman sighed, her breath hitching. "I only fear for my sister and her family. Not all of us are fortunate enough to reside in Camelot." With that she turned and stormed off, the woman with the child watched her go before sighing and looking to the boy in her arms.

"Well, I say it's a good decision," she informed the kid haughtily and Merlin turned away.

Everywhere he went people prepared to set off for battle. Was it wrong that while he was terrified about what was happening around him, his real fear lay in what was happening beyond his sights, deep in the basement of Camelot's dungeon's?

"Merlin!" He turned as Gwen came rushing up beside him, her face pinched. Several people around them stopped to stare at him a moment, before launching into hushed conversations that no doubt centred around his falling out with 'Prince Arthur.' Looked like they'd finally heard. His stomach churned unpleasantly.

"Gwen," he greeted softly, noting the worry in her eyes. "Is something wrong?"

"Walk with me," she requested, already wrapping a hand around his elbow and pulling him along. Sir Kay was no longer at the black smiths yard. She led him down passed the main bustle of the towns square, and out of the protective gates of Camelot until they were away from the prying ears of pedestrians. "What have you heard of Arthur?" She demanded in her soft, worried tone, and the hair on the back of his neck stood uneasily.

"Nothing since yesterday evening. The _Prince_" he spat the title acidly and Gwen flinched slightly at his tone, "decreed that the prisoner no longer needed attending. Apparently I have tended to his wounds well enough that he can now be left to his own devices."

"Morgana has been barred from visiting Edgar-" she cut herself off and huffed in irritation. "From visiting Arthur as well," she announced and the feeling of unease within did not help Merlin's headache. He rubbed at his temple. "She fears the reasons that Edgar would have secluded Arthur so severely."

"What reasons?" He demanded sharply, and she gently touched his arm in an effort to calm him. It didn't help in the least, but he was loath to shrug off her hand.

"She wouldn't say, and I'm uncertain even she knows what she fears. Her nightmares have been terrible these past few days. She has barely had sleep, and now that we know that Arthur is in fact Edgar she has been even more concerned."

"She's far from the only one," he muttered and looked back towards the castle. "I need to find Edgar's servant and have a little talk with him," he declared, though that had already been decided the night before and she was well aware of his plans as she had been there when they were made.

"I don't mean to rush you, but Morgana thinks you need to hurry." No kidding, he thought uncharitably and took a breath to control his temper. This wasn't Gwen's fault.

"It's not exactly an easy task," he declared defensively. He knew better than anyone that he needed to get Arthur to safety. "Especially not now that it seems they've decided to ride to Baranak's land and declare a hostile takeover."

"She says she can arrange to have a horse prepped this evening, discretely, but one horse is all she can get at the moment. Even then, you're going to have to steal it once you get Arthur out of the dungeon."

"Oh, it's as simple as that is it?" He sighed. "When is the army planning on heading out?"

"At first light."

He thought about this. It would be easier to remove Arthur from the city and try to get him to safety without the majority of the knights present. It would make sense to wait one more night before getting him out of there. But an ache in his chest told him that waiting was a bad idea. A terrible idea. He had promised Arthur he would get him out, and he wasn't going to waste another night just because it would be easier.

But there was a reason Edgar hadn't killed Arthur yet, that the execution would take place a fortnight from when Arthur was imprisoned, keeping him in torment instead of simply removing the one serious threat to his new position as the crowned prince. The spell must need a fortnight to complete.

Merlin needed to fix this sooner than later.

"Tell Morgana to have the horse placed in the woods, by the old stone at the giant chestnut tree. Do you know the one I mean?" Gwen nodded confidently, her dark eyes still lit with concern. "I'll need food and blankets, a cooking tin, bandages, and a fresh set of clothes for him. Can you arrange for that?"

"Of course," she agreed, and a little of his worry lifted from his shoulders at her confidence.

"I don't really have a plan yet," he admitted, dropping his voice as a pair on horses went trotting by.

"I know, but you'll come up with something," she smiled. "You always do."

Right. Because he was Merlin, and protecting Arthur was what he did. He took a breath, nodded to himself, and set off to find that weasely little servant of Edgar's.

He had work to do.

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	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Six

Standing high up on the solid stone balcony Uther Pendragon looked down upon his city. The bailey was buzzing with activity, preparations taking place in controlled haste as wagons were loaded with food, extra weapons and tents. There was an entire wagon devoted to the archers arrows alone and Uther couldn't help staring at it a long moment before tearing his eyes away. Beyond the bailey and citadel the upper class citizens trolled around in the first quarter, their frenetic energy easy to feel even when he didn't have them clearly in his sights. He watched as a few knights oversaw the distribution of armour to men who made up the lower ranks of this army, and was nearly overcome with the heavy grief of knowing that soon he would be sending them to their possible death.

War had been declared, as Arthur had rightly heralded. The act of hostility against his son, the only heir to Camelot's throne, in an attempt to take it for himself demanded a response. Uther had been unusually hesitant at first to accept this. It was not like him to shy away from such dangerous challenges, to show weakness and mercy when he most needed to rule with an iron fist. He knew what had to be done, and with Arthur encouraging him to retaliate with a force that was almost unusual for his son, he had agreed.

Edgar Baranak was nothing like his father, he didn't hold the same ideals for peace and continued trade. He was greedy. He was spoiled. Uther had quietly feared the day Camilus would pass and his death had come about much sooner than expected. That fear had clearly not been in vain, and now many would die, mostly the innocent and some of the guilty. Uther silently cursed this forced hand. War was necessary but he would not be a deserving leader if he did not let the burden of it weigh so heavily on his shoulders.

"Father," Arthur stepped up beside him, his black shirt flapping in the cool fall breeze and Uther looked him over, spending a moment longer than necessary on the fading yellow bruises around his sons eye. "We are ready to go over the final plans for the invasion," he nodded to the entrance way behind him. Uther tried to find some of the mercy that so often clouded his sons actions in times of conflict, to find the softness that he had harshly told Arthur again and again would one day be his down fall, and found none.

To think of the horrors he must have suffered to have chased away the last of the warmth in his heart. Uther could not bear it.

"Very well," he turned sharply from the edge of the balcony and strode back into the dim interior of his throne room. Five of their most trusted knights stood around the table, each standing strong as they awaited the final planning stage. Sir Leon and Sir Kay among them, looking as grim as ever. Uther met their gazes as he moved to the head of the table, Arthur standing tall by his side, and a silent understanding was reaffirmed. Their purpose in this upcoming battle would be to protect Arthur, no matter the cost, and Uther relaxed slightly in confidence.

With Camelot's strength and righteous purpose they would not fail, he just wished that this show of might had never been made necessary in the first place.

"How many archers have we amassed?" He began, and pretended the weight of the crown wasn't trying to bow his neck.

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Merlin found Edgar's pretentious servant Stephenin the castles main kitchen, picking at a plate of the best cheese they had while informing the head cook that she needed to do a better job preparing _Arthur's_ meal that evening as the previous nights roast quail had been too dry.

Roast quail. Hah! He should be glad he got that in the first place, seeing as it was normally a dish reserved for more social functions than the simple dinner usually taken in Arthur's room. Judging by the ever-deepening glower Jardinia was giving the man he was clearly going to be run out of the kitchen very soon. Servant to the Prince or not Stephen had no right to be talking to her or the rest of the kitchen staff in such a callous manner.

Merlin didn't bother entering into the massive room, deciding to wait by the door to both avoid the heat and the possible bloodshed that was about to take place.

"Too dry," Jardinia stood a foot shorter than Stephen but that didn't stop her from getting right into his face. "Of course it was too dry! Ye come in 'ere narking about Arthur demanding the slight bird fer dinner after we've already prepared the majesties plates and then demand it be finished in 'alf the time it needs. Aside from the fact that ye were lucky we 'ad any here ready to prepare we 'ad to put it in the hottest firechamber just to meet yer request. Yer lucky it didn't come out charred black and ashy!" Behind her one of the ladies huffed her agreement.

"Are you saying you're incapable of handling the Prince's requests? Because I assure you he can be informed and will be glad to find someone more capable." He reached forward to pluck another tiny square of cheese from the tray and Jardinia lashed out, quick as a viper. Her massive wooden spoon cracked across his knuckles with a loud _thwack_ and he screeched loudly and flailed away.

"What is the matter with you woman!?"

"Threaten my place as the kings cook will you! I've been 'ere since before ye were sucking on yer goats teat and no twiggy little rockhead is going to tell me my place!" She took another step towards him and he retreated two steps, suddenly looking much more unsure of himself. "So how's bout ye remember _your_ place and figure out the good prince's eating requests with plenty of time for us te prepare it, or I'll stop giving you what ye ask fer all together and inform the prince that that's what ye ordered in the first place hmm. He can't doubt an entire kitchens sincerity now can he?" She smiled sweetly and it came across as positively dangerous. This is why Merlin _never, ever_ got on the kitchens bad side. They were sensitive about their craft and had rather large, intimidating broadswords masquerading as knives to back up their words. And wooden spoons, one must not forget the wooden spoons.

"You think he would believe the word of a mere cook over that of a trusted servant!" Stephen huffed a little laugh and quickly took another step back when Jardinia raised her spoon threateningly. "Just have the meat cooked properly next time and we'll see about you keeping your place here," he actually ordered her, as though he were the head servant in charge of managing their tasks. Merlin bristled at the tone and he wasn't the one it was directed at. Jardinia's cheeks turned more rosy in anger and Stephen, finally exhibiting a modicum of intelligence, turned around and beat a hasty retreat from the warm room. He brushed by Merlin on his way through the archway, not sparing him more than an irritated glance and Merlin looked back at Jardinia. Her and a few of the other ladies had finally noticed he was there.

"That waif don't deserve his position, saviour of our prince or not," she growled and her look turned slightly sympathetic. He nodded once, sharply, and turned away before she could say anything else, lest he be caught up there the rest of the afternoon. It took no time at all to catch up to Stephen, mainly because he wasn't trying to keep his presence a secret this time, and he followed the trim man down several corridors. He was wearing rather nice attire for a servant, and Merlin realized with a jolt that he was keeping his leggings in place with one of Arthur's more casual belts.

The deep anger had been simmering for days flared and the magic within him surged into his fingers, making his hands flood with warmth. He looked down in alarm when he felt an even more unusual heat at his waist and realized that he had ignited the hem of his shirt! The tiny flames licking into life were enough to momentarily distract his rage and he frantically patted them out. When he looked back up it was to find that Stephen had stopped and turned to face him, giving him a cold look.

"What on earth is the matter with you?" he hissed, and one of the younger chamber maids who had been passing jerked slightly and hurried on around the bend.

"Not a single thing actually," Merlin tried an easy going grin on, knowing it was coming across rather flat, and brutally shoved the next furious surge of magic that was trying to escape through his fingers down to a simmer. He had more control than this, he would _not_ let it get the better of him due to the hate boiling inside his chest. It was a living thing, but he was still in charge.

"You need to get over yourself," Stephen sniffed, eyeing him quickly up and down with disdain. "You're no longer worthy of being the Prince's servant, it's time you acknowledged that and moved on. This following us about business is actually embarrassing for you."

Merlin sighed, looked up and down the thankfully deserted corridor, and let the anger within rise up. It must have manifested in his eyes first, because Stephen's own went wide in sudden fear just before Merlin lunged at him. He wrapped both his hands in the man's thick shirt and shoved him back, knocking him off balance enough that he was left scrambling just to keep his feet under him.

"What!?" he squawked, unable to say anything more as Merlin tightened his grip and kept rushing him backwards. He didn't slow when they approached the door, instead slamming Stephen right into it with enough forced that the heavy wood swung open behind him and only then did Merlin release his grip. He watched unsympathetically as the man finally went sprawling to the floor.

"Are you mad!" He yelled furiously and Merlin kept watch on him as he gently closed the door with a heavy, final, thud. Stephen sprung to his feet, anger clear in every line of his face and body but he did not make a move towards Merlin, clearly intimidated enough for now to keep a bit of distance. Merlin rolled his shoulders and quickly looked around. Huh, he'd always wondered where they stored all the extra tapestries and ground coverings. This room, while smaller than most in the castle, was lined with tightly rolled up weaves. There were so many that they barely left room for two people to walk side by side through the center of the space. The only places that didn't have the brightly coloured items leaning heavily against it were the door behind Merlin and the large window across the way.

"Yes," Merlin finally answered the heavily breathing man and eyed him with as much contempt as possible. "I am mad. Furious even. So livid I could probably set this entire room aflame just from thinking it that's how mad I am," he kept his voice calm, almost soft, and it seemed to be threatening enough as Stephen still didn't make a move to get passed him to the door.

"You're crazy," Stephen uttered. "You can't go about shoving people into storage rooms! Especially not me! I'm the Prince's most valued servant! He'll flog you for such an attack!"

"Like he flogged Arthur, the true Prince of Camelot?" Stephen paled at Merlin's words but quickly shook his head in denial all the same.

"Don't be a fool, you're speaking treasonous words and I'll see you beheaded for this!"

"You and I both know," Merlin took a menacing step forward, trying to use his full height to be looming and intimidating the way Arthur had once instructed him. He was glad for the lessons now, despite the fact that it felt unnatural. "That it is King Baranak you serve while the true Prince of Camelot remains locked in the deepest dungeon. How do you think King Uther will react when he learns of the real treachery here? Do you think he'll let you go under the notion that you were only doing as you were told? Do you think he'll settle for a merciful beheading as punishment?"

"The rumours of your idiocy are clearly not far fetched," Stephen snapped, standing taller and straightening his robes to hide how flustered he was at the accusations. Merlin resisted the urge to shove him again, instead taking a step closer and he was gratified to see Stephen retreat slightly. Coward.

"I know the truth about Baranak. I _know_ about the dark magic, about the rite, about the murder," he made no attempt to disguise his disgust. "Slaying his first born child, no doubt not even a full season old, for the sake of power, of riches that he already had!" There was a quick flash of guilt in Stephens eyes, the first real emotion Merlin had seen from the man, but it was crushed quickly, no doubt from practice and distance from the child's death itself.

"You don't know anything!" he argued and stumbled over one of the tapestries, its foot protruding into the narrow isle. "You're just envious that I took your position, that I'm a better servant than you could ever hope to be!" His voice became slightly shrill and Merlin was finished with this nattering. Sometimes Arthur was right, it was rare but it happened, when he said that you couldn't talk your way out of every situation, sometimes you had to take action. Merlin lunged forward again, grabbing at Stephens shirt once more and shoving him into the rolled tapestries that towered around them. He didn't give the man any time to collect himself, instead pressing his entire, altogether too skinny, frame against the shorter man and pressing his forearm against his throat. He leaned in slightly and took a disturbing amount of pleasure when Stephens face began to turn red. He let up, slightly.

"I know that my Prince has suffered unspeakable atrocities! I know that Arthur Pendragon is a hundred fold the man Edgar Baranak could ever hope to be and I know that I will do what it takes to get the information I need from you in order to save Arthur's life. On this you have my word."

"I'll tell you nothing," Stephen tried to scrabble away from him but had no chance of gaining ground.

"You'll tell me how long I have until the curse is set in stone."

"It's already set in stone! There is no changing the true course!" he reached up and wrapped his fingers around Merlin's forearm, trying to pull him away.

Merlin's eyes flashed a fierce gold and Stephens' face drained to an unearthly pale at the sight. Merlin leaned forward slowly and tilted his head to the side so he could speak softly into the man's ear.

"I can guarantee that whomever you had cast the spell upon Arthur, their skills of magic pale in comparison to my own and I will not hesitate to cause you more torment than your tiny mind could ever comprehend if you do not tell me what I wish to know." Stephen's eyes widened even more but he still said nothing. Merlin flashed his eyes again. "Pain!" He hissed fiercely and let his eyes flash brighter, "_lot's_ of pain!" he saw the moment the threat took hold, which was a relief. He was at a loss as to what else he could say to convince the twerp to crack without actually resorting to physical violence. He was scared by how much he wasn't really bothered by that.

"Okay! Okay I'll tell! Whatever you wish to know! Just, please, don't hurt me." Merlin let up and took a few steps back, giving the man some space, and folded his arms. After a stretch of silence he raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Well, go on then."

"There was an old witch. She cast the spell and k-killed the babe. She said it took seven days to set and then another fortnight to become everlasting. We were not," he hesitated and looked worriedly at Merlin, as though he were preparing to turn him into a frog, "His Majesty Baranak was not going to let Arthur live past then."

"And how much longer until this fortnight passes!"

"Five days! That's why we needed to hold off on an immediate execution."

"I've still got time," Merlin muttered to himself and Stephen straightened up slightly, a cloud of dust from the tapestries shifting into the sunbeams as he moved. Merlin glared at him and he froze. "Why's he invading his own land then? If he already thinks he has Camelot then why the march to arms?"

"Really, you haven't figured that out?" A bit of the snideness in Stephens tone returned and Merlin took a threatening step forward. "Because!" the man snivelled hastily, "because Camelot is a larger and more powerful kingdom than King Edgar's own could ever hope to be, but to add his lands and riches to Camelot would more than double his power when he takes this throne. His majesty's next to succession is only six years of age and still visiting cousins across country. He won't be back to take up rein for at least a moons passing. The King left Sir Holden in charge in his absence and he is a valiant knight but even with his skills in leadership Camelot can easily crush them."

"He's going to kill his own subjects? Hundreds, maybe thousands of men and women and children for his own gain! That's disgusting," Merlin snarled and this time Stephen just looked slightly confused.

"It's what any smart King would do," he shrugged.

"It's really not. I've had enough of his!" Merlin raised his hand and looked into the panicking mans eyes, calling up the energy that was singing beneath his skin. "Contego monamentum contego masmenuth!*" his deepened voice scratched his dry throat and Stephen flinched back, covering his head with his arms and crying out. For a long moment they were still, blood rushing past Merlin's ears, before Stephen slowly pulled his hands away and straightened up. His brow furrowed as he took in the room, the cowardice that had been so apparent only moments before was now hidden beneath an irritated scowl. Still, Merlin held his breath, because it wasn't as though he'd ever tried this enchantment on any being before; he wasn't actually sure it would work.

Stephen finally noticed him and pulled himself to his full height, straightening his shirt.

"You? What are you doing in here?" He paused and looked around again. "What am I doing in here?" Relief flooded through Merlin and he lowered his outstretched arm casually. It actually worked! Not that he didn't have the utmost confidence in himself, but mind charms were always very delicate spells.

"You were thinking about changing the wall coverings in Arthur's chambers," Merlin tried to infuse his voice with confusion and gestured to the room at large, "so you asked me to bring you here," the _you idiot_ was heavily implied. Stephen bristled despite his remaining confusion.

"Yes well, I suppose you must have been useful for something in all your months failing at being a decent servant to his prince. I've seen enough," he moved forward but stopped, an impressionable distance still between them and Merlin gave him a flat smile. "Well, move already, unless you feel like spending the rest of your day in here."

"Right, sorry," Merlin moved gracefully to the side and allowed Stephen to squeeze past before following him into the castles bright corridor. It was empty enough and Merlin stepped off in the opposite direction of Stephen. He had what he wanted now, there was no need to continue following the wretch. He needed to stop this. He needed to prevent this war and save Arthur and it was with a sickening clench of his gut that he realized he couldn't. Not without Arthur's help to influence his father. Uther would never listen to something Merlin had to say, especially not in times such as this. There was nothing he could do except help Arthur, then Arthur could fix this. He had to.

Unless Merlin killed Edgar himself. He swallowed back bile at the thought. Perhaps it was the only way to stop this but having to kill someone again…it made him feel cold right in his heart, which conflicted harshly with the need to get revenge on the man.

He moved down the cobbled steps and into the castles yard only to freeze at the bottom of the stairs.

Not thirty feet from him Edgar was assessing a wagon with Gaius, and Darcel, the man generally tasked with guarding Arthur in the dungeons, was standing at his shoulder. A red cape was draped over his back. He was practically glowing with smugness and pride despite his freshly bruised and swollen eye; Merlin didn't know what to think of this. It was unheard of for a common guard to be promoted to such a place of rank, especially with no known act of valour or ceremony! Merlin cast his gaze about to see Sir's Leon and Kay just off to his side and he swiftly moved to them. They noticed his approach immediately.

"Merlin, is something the matter? You're looking pale," Leon asked, concern evident as he gave him a once over while Sir Kay merely watched him closely.

"You mean aside from going to war?" He joked feebly and was met with unmoved glares. "No, no, nothing's wrong I was just…I noticed that Darcel has had a promotion and I wanted to congratulate you on receiving a new member within your ranks." Kay snorted in disgust before seeming to remember himself and wiping his face clear of derision. Leon looked towards Edgar and Darcel, still in conversation with Gaius, but kept his face neutral.

"Thank you. Prince Arthur decreed that Sir Darcel has done him a great service in guarding the prisoner, and as such has earned his trust. He will be an…honorable addition," he sounded pained as he said this, not able to completely hide his displeasure.

"When did this happen?"

"Not long ago. It was very sudden," he dragged his gaze from the group and focused again on Merlin. "Is there a reason for your interest?" He asked baldly and Sir Kay looked away from the sword he had been examining to focus on Merlin once again.

"No no, not beyond being nosey," he hesitated a moment too long before answering, needing the moment to swallow a deeply disturbed feeling away, and made to leave. Sir Kay stepped in his path to block his way. Merlin stopped abruptly. "Was there something else?" He asked hesitantly, looking between them. Sir Leon was looking at Kay with a slight frown.

"You need to be careful Merlin, whatever it is you're planning to do."

"Who says I'm planning anything?" he asked distractedly, casting a look back at Edgar and Darcel before realizing the action and pulling it back to the knights before him. Kay's eyes narrowed slightly and he gave him a lingering look, before stepping swiftly out of Merlin's path. Merlin made to move past and then paused, his head near splitting open from the pressure that had been building. He looked between the knights, trying not to squint. "Take care," he requested softly, gaze drifting to their swords, before finally moving on, feeling their eyes on his back for long moments before he was lost to them in the crowd.

He moved slowly, unable and unwilling to tempt the pressure between his ears with quick steps and when he shut the door behind him to his and Gaius's rooms it was a relief.

Taking a breath to steady himself he looked about at the rough wooden boxes only half-filled with remedies tucked among the straw. Gaius would be working long into the night to finish filling them up but Merlin felt no guilt as he carefully went through them, pulling out the ones most useful for Arthur, the glass clinking delicately in his hands. He then took a few more just in case. And bandages. Lots of clean bandages. He felt a shiver of unease down his spine as he carefully moved to his room, storing the precious materials in a satchel almost thin enough in places to bore holes, and carefully tucked it beside the door.

Then, and only then, did he allow himself to fall to his bed, too tired to bother pulling the mattress tight and hugging the flat pillow to his head. He had mere hours before darkness fell, he needed rest if he were to be of any use to Arthur. He clutched at his head, tears trying to leak out the corner of his eyes from the pain, and he curled in on himself.

Sleep sleep sleep.

Maybe if he thought it hard enough it would eventually come.

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_*Contego monamentum contego masmenuth. Translation: shielded memories shielded mind_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 7

The castle grounds weren't as quiet as was the norm for the late hour. Servants that would not be setting out on the road to war in the early dawn light were trying to quietly finish preparations, last minute carts being piled high with rolled tents, banners being mended, boots being oiled. A few knights stood watch, tired, weary eyes following the proceedings but missing Merlin completely as he snuck through the shadows, his heart pounding loudly and breathing short in nervousness.

He made it to the dungeons without trial, and even then the new guard stationed outside Arthur's cell was half asleep on his feet, leaning against the cold wall, frowning. He looked older in the torch light, perhaps a knight that had taken to field some time ago but had agreed to the posting so the majority of younger, able bodied men could head off to fight. Merlin put him to sleep with a few simple words and managed to catch him before he hit the ground. He didn't want to hurt him. There had been enough of that going around.

He took a steadying breath as he unbolted the heavy door separating him from Arthur. He didn't know what to expect, it had been an entire day since he had last been to tend him, but the animalistic snarl as the door swung open wasn't it.

He froze, firelight dancing from the torch in his hand, hot enough to cast heat towards him but he didn't notice. Arthur was struggling to his knees, once again shirtless, the wounds on his back clearly having reopened enough that the dark blood had soaked the top of his pants, half-way around his side. His eyes were dark, bags of exhaustion dragging the skin beneath even as they were peeled open wide, the white's catching in the fires glow.

His burn was raw and oozing, torn and swollen. There was a dark bruise forming over one hip, peaking out from his pants, one drawstring hanging out thoughtlessly. Another mark shadowed beneath his ribs that hadn't been there before, sitting just beneath a shallow scrape that he could barely make out in the dim light.

"Arthur," he swallowed heavily, barely managing to get his name out and Arthur's struggle to push to a kneel halted. He stared at Merlin, blinked slowly, and exhaled loudly as he shifted back onto his hip.

"Merlin," his voice was hoarse, slurred, no doubt from a fat lip. They were silent a moment, Merlin almost afraid to approach, needing permission, the sharpness of Arthur's snarl only moments before still echoing in his ears. "Have you come to rescue me or is this another one of your inept attempts at socializing?" He broke the silence, his relief not quite as disguised by the snide tone as his prince would like. Merlin moved forward, rooted the torch in the wall sconce and fell to his knees before Arthur, the guard's keys rattling loudly in his hand.

"If you'd rather talk than go for a highly recommended midnight stroll then I'm all ears, though I've been told I tend to use them as more of an accessory than an actual tool."

"Kind of like- your mouth- you mean," Arthur tried, he really did, but Merlin could see aching hurt in the curve of his shoulders, the exhaustion in his half curled hands as Merlin gently took them and unlocked the heavy metal bracelets.

"I'll have you know that I never say anything that doesn't need to be heard," Merlin wanted to wrap them now, the bruising looked darker without the metal obscuring it, crusts of dried blood scabbed over shallow sores, but they didn't have the time. Arthur seemed to understand this, forgoing a response to conserve his energy as Merlin helped him into a shirt as gently as possible. "I'm sorry Arthur," Merlin whispered into his ear, feeling the heat radiating off the man's entire body as he moved to his side and gently raised an arm over his shoulder, "but we need to move."

"Then do it," he ordered, sharply, nearly growling and Merlin forced them both to their feet, taking so much of Arthur's weight that he nearly toppled back down, but Arthur had locked his legs by then. Merlin didn't need to see his face to know the sheer determination that would be all over it.

The first few steps were agony. Arthur hesitated before each one, his hand flexing on Merlin's shoulder as he forced his limbs to move forward after so much disuse, until he made a hurt, angry noise in his throat, straightened up, and began to move with purpose.

Merlin kept his arms around him as securely as he dared, terrified of causing more pain but needing to support him. Arthur said nothing about it, glancing at the guard as they moved beyond the cell, then glancing around the room, gaze lingering on the rough rectangular table covered in wax drippings. Merlin couldn't see his face, didn't know what he was thinking, he just led them on. There was no point moving the guard, it would take too long and anyone coming down here would discover Arthur's escape in moments anyway.

It was almost ridiculously easy moving through the dank undertunnels of the castle, the ground not quite smooth but for once nobody blocking their path, until they were finally beyond the castle wall.

Arthur was lagging, his steps faltering, nearly taking Merlin down as he tripped over a clump of grass, and Merlin nearly sobbed in relief when the shadow of a large, dark horse finally loomed before them. Right where Morgana promised.

She whinnied at their approach but calmed the moment Merlin cooed at her. She had no saddle, but a thick saddle pad with sewn in stirrups was strapped to her, along with several bulging bags. Arthur reached a shaking hand out to her, fisting her mane and letting her take his weight as Merlin moved to untie her bridle from the trees branch. Here Merlin paused, trying not to stare at Arthur in the darkness; Arthur and his laboured breathing, the memory of the sweat that had broken across his skin, his entire body shaking, and he feared the next step.

"Arthur, you need to get on the horse," Merlin whispered, glad at least for the slight wind because it masked the tiniest of sounds. Arthur rolled his brow over the horses neck to gaze at Merlin, and nodded slowly. Then, with a quick tap Arthur ordered "down" and the animal shifted, snorted, and dropped to her front knees.

"Oh," Merlin blinked and moved quickly to help as Arthur so very carefully lifted his leg over her back and slid into place. "I didn't know she could do that," which was a relief beyond words and Merlin patiently waited for her to stand back on her forelegs before swinging himself up. Thankfully the bags had been placed for two riders, pressing at the back of Merlin's thighs but not in the way.

He hesitated a moment, not certain what to do with his arms, before Arthur finally seemed to lose the last of his energy and began to sag forward. Merlin very gently wrapped an arm around him and pulled him back until his back rested against him. The heat on his body was unnatural, it practically burned through his clothes. Sick. He was too sick.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," Merlin whispered, knowing the position must be agony on his wounds but Arthur didn't answer, already too far gone in either sleep or the unavoidable rest of the injured. Merlin carefully splayed his hand over his chest, holding him in place, and reached for the reins with the other.

As they rode through the night he whispered words of healing and hoped, with all his heart, that Arthur would be okay.

**ΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦ**

The ringing of the castle bells broke the early morning silence, rousting half asleep sentries from their posts and dragging those who managed to fall asleep from their bedrolls. Uther was already wide awake. Wide awake and standing still as a statue as he looked over his kingdom in the predawn light. The warning bell was almost a relief, pulling him from his dark thoughts with the swiftness of a sword being drawn.

He turned sharply and moved back inside just as Arthur burst through the hall doors with his manservant hot on his heels. He looked as though he had been getting a good nights rest, his dark hair wayward in the halls candle light.

"What is it?" He asked, his voice rough from sleep as he looked to Uther for explanation. Uther didn't know, but it was only ever moments after a bell before his knights informed him of the problem and, true to form, Sir Kay came marching imposingly through the door, two of the castles guards following closely.

"Sire," he bowed his head briefly as he stopped before Uther, his face grim, and took a moment to nod at Arthur as well. "King Baranak has escaped the dungeons-"

"What!" Arthur stepped up beside Uther and narrowed his eyes at Sir Kay with an anger that was quicker to rise than Uther had grown accustomed over the years. Ne'er the less this was not the time to dwell on the changes wrought on his son from the trials of torture, painful though they were. "What do you mean he's _escaped_? I was there last afternoon and he could scarcely stand!"

Sir Kay kept his face carefully blank as he looked to Uther's son, but Uther had known this man for years, had fought by his side and knighted him when he was barely of age himself and he could see the unease in his eyes now.

"As you say Prince Arthur," he bowed his head again, "then I suspect he had aid in his retreat."

"Enemies surround us," Uther muttered and then, more sharply "what of the guard tasked with watching him?"

"He is uninjured but cannot recall what happened; one moment he was standing sentry and next he was waking on the dirt with the torches dwindling and the cell open and empty."

"Who's responsible for this incompetence?" Arthur demanded, dark eyes alight with rage that concerned Uther though he fought to not reveal it.

"It is of no matter at the moment," Uther waved off, "it will be dealt with. At this time we must set a course of action. We will delay the march to Baranak's lands until we-"

"No!" Arthur snapped and Uther turned then, narrowing his eyes in warning and staring at his son until the boy's shoulders dropped and his heated eyes turned apologetic. Prince or not his was not the place to interrupt his King and Uther was loath to let him forget it, especially now when his emotions seemed to rule him.

"Forgive my impudence your Majesty," he bowed his head in respect before looking up with eyes still aflame with emotion. "I simply wish that we not delay the march to Baranak's lands for fear of it making us look weak and unprepared."

"You would have us attack even while the one we fight against is running free in our fields?"

"Yes sire, I would. We must not show weakness, of any kind," Arthur pressed his lips together and breathed deeply through his nose, once, as he pleadingly met Uthers gaze. "We'll have a hunting party of our finest trackers out to find him and bring Baranak and his accomplice back to us, but I do not wish to delay our offensive strike. We will give the enemy too much time to prepare a defence."

_What defence?_ Uther wanted to ask. Baranak's lands were stuffed with farming communities, their few discovered mines not offering much in the way of trade and their army less than half the size of Camelot's.

"Father," Arthur's cool eyes pleaded with him, too filled with anguish, "our men are ready to fight for us, to help reclaim the honour the deception stole, that the dark magic stripped from us with every day spent in the bowels of that place. Should Baranak make it safely back to his reign," he paused as though his thoughts pained him, and shook his head, "his kingdom cannot be led by a man so cruel, so lost with his humanity. His people will suffer in the years to come, let us not allow it."

Uther didn't sigh, didn't allow his shoulders to slump. His boy was not a stranger to battle, he understood the loss and the pain that such hostile actions would become yet he still felt that it was the only course. So it must be.

"We ride out as planned," he declared and turned to Sir Kay, "have your best trackers accompanied by two Knights set out to find Baranak. Bring him to us alive and no more damaged than he already is." He turned back to Arthur, gazing deep into his dark brown eyes. Uther remembered once thinking how his son resembled his other. He couldn't see it anymore. "Sir Holden will not meet us on a battle ground, he needs the protection of the castle walls to stand a chance of resistance. Edgar Baranak will be beheaded at the foot of his foundations. We will see if this is enough for Sir Holden to lay his arms down." He turned and began moving out, he needed to have his armour strapped on if they were to leave by the time the sun crested the hill. "I want no villagers hurt in any way lest they give you no choice. We are invading their country, they do not need us invading their homes."

"Yes sire," he could hear Sir Kay bow deeply behind him and did not turn back. If he had he might have seen the unreasonable glee on his son's face and begun questioning the entire purpose behind their invasion once more.

**ΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦ**

Merlin did his best to keep Arthur as still as possible, but it was an unreasonable wish considering the movement of the horse combined with the uneven ground and trickery of darkness. He didn't realize how grateful he was for Arthur's unconscious state until the man woke in his arms and quickly cut off a strangled gasp. His body stiffened, his back pulling wetly away from Merlin's chest, creating space between them that almost felt like more of a wall than the damned curse did.

"Arthur?" he questioned thickly, the early morning chatter of the forest competing with his voice. Arthur took a deep breath and one of his previously limp hands rose to cover Merlin's; instead of removing it as Merlin had feared he simply curled his fingers around Merlin's own and held on. Between the heat of his chest and the warmth of his palm there was no doubt that his fever had yet to break.

"I'm fine," he croaked regardless, voice wispy dry and Merlin gently pulled the horse to a stop and reached to the water skin strapped by his thigh. He uncorked it and brought it to Arthur's lips.

"Slow," he warned, carefully tipping the leather bag to the right angle. Arthur managed a few sips before he choked a little and pushed the bag away.

"No…more," he gasped and Merlin quickly put it away, their mare shifting uneasily beneath them.

"Arthur," Merlin began again, picking up the reins and very carefully not dislodging his other hand from beneath his Prince's surprisingly strong grip.

"Keep going," Arthur interrupted him with heavy breath and a half cough. Merlin could feel in his chest where he stifled a groan and he wanted to argue. They should stop, Arthur needed rest, but- "keep going," Arthur ordered again and dropped his head back to loll against his shoulder.

"We need to stop," Merlin began looking around, trying to see if this would be a reasonable place to camp, but Arthur flopped his head back and forth in disagreement.

"No- keep moving," he swallowed, "more distance."

"I don't think-"

"Move!" he snapped, or at least tried to. Merlin sighed but urged their mount on. It was difficult to not notice the pain Arthur was in, the stifled gasps, the grip around Merlin's hand near crushing at times, the way he kept his back arched from touching Merlin.

When the sun had reached mid-morn Merlin had had enough. Arthur was near delirious, Merlin couldn't help him on horseback, and they were both in desperate need of rest. He wasn't overly familiar with this area of the forest, but they'd crossed a stream a short ways back and he curved the horse in its direction. It was a while before he came upon it again, the trees thick and hanging around them, providing cover from the cool wind that had cropped up.

Merlin slid carefully off their horse, legs nearly buckling from being astride so long, and repeated the order Arthur had given the mare upon mounting. She heaved to her knees, head swinging back and forth as though trying to see them, and Arthur tipped to the side, nearly falling off her back instead of waiting for Merlin's aid. Merlin barely caught his stumble in time.

"Idiot," he couldn't help muttering fondly as the prince scowled at the ground, limbs shaking from the effort but still stubborn enough to hate needing the help. Arthur tossed him a half hearted glare and allowed Merlin to lead him a few feet away and sit him gently on a tuft of grass and old leaves. He pulled their things from the horses back and despaired that there wasn't a great deal of grass for her to graze. He looked between Arthur and her and when he caught Arthur's glare he took the hint and led her a short distance through the trees to leave her by the stream and a heavier looking spot of greenery. "Thank you," he murmured to her, stroking her neck tiredly and she stepped away with a flick of her ear to drink deeply. Merlin turned to head back, hesitated, and carefully muttered the strongest concealing spell he knew. He felt the magic course through him, it made his pounding head ache more and his vision blurred for a moment, but when he finished he felt safer than he had since he'd determined who Arthur really was. "Try to stay quiet and not give us away eh?" He asked the horse, who snorted in response, though that could be from her snuffling the ground for an acceptable meal.

When he near stumbled back to Arthur it was to see him slowly, agonizingly slowly, unrolling their only bedroll on the ground. Merlin very carefully did not sigh.

"What is this?" he moved beside Arthur and gently tugged it away despite the heated glare. "You get injured and, for the first time in your life I might add, you decide to help with setting up camp?"

"Also, for the, last time" Arthur breathed out, but the haughty effect was lost when his gaze fell on Merlin's chest and he grew distracted. Merlin frowned, looked down, and remembered the majority of early morning when he had kept Arthur pressed close. His blue shirt was stained with dried blotches of brown blood. Not even his red scarf or jacket had escaped untarnished. "I'll, get you a, new, shirt," Arthur swallowed passed the effort of speaking, his eyes slightly glazed from fever and Merlin shook his head. He couldn't care less about his shirt.

"I have plenty more, don't worry about it," which was a lie, he had one more, red and worn, resting in a heap on his bed back home. "Besides, I'm an expert at removing blood from clothing, or are you forgetting that I handle allll your laundry." Arthur blinked slowly at this and Merlin grabbed the water skin once more. "Here, drink," he ordered and Arthur hesitated before making the effort to swallow a few more mouthfuls. Merlin did the same before tossing it to the side. "I need to clean your wounds Arthur," he couldn't help the apology in his voice and couldn't help the way Arthur just nodded in resignation before he sat straighter and started to struggle to remove his shirt. Merlin laid a gentle hand on the bruised and swollen wrist, halting the action. "Let me, I don't want you to accidentally tear anything further.

"Not a child," Arthur glared.

"No, you're really not, but I still don't want to see you anymore hurt than you already are."

Arthur blinked at him, no doubt at the sternness in his tone, and capitulated. Most likely he was too drained to argue. Merlin carefully set about getting the one pot from the bags and filling it with water from the stream and began the slow, laborious process of removing clothing plastered to injured skin. Arthur didn't protest once, but his knuckles were bloodless in his lap by the time Merlin finished. "Sorry, I'm sorry," he whispered as he placed the soiled clothing aside and Arthur's eyelids peeled open suddenly, heated with an anger Merlin wasn't overly familiar with.

"Not. Your. Fault." Arthur pushed out between clenched teeth. Stormy blue eyes held his gaze until Merlin blinked and nodded and looked back down to the burn on his torso, the angry strip of bruising over his hip that disappeared under his pants. "Nobody's fault but Baranak." Arthur finished with a snarl and startled Merlin deeply when he raised a shaking hand and laid it gently on the side of Merlin's brow. Pointedly. Arthur was aware of the ache in his head, the pain so deep and constant it nearly left Merlin out of sorts, but not so bad that he couldn't function. "Getting worse?" he asked softly and Merlin smiled instead of agreeing that yes, actually, the pain was getting worse. It must have to do with the dwindling time to its conclusion.

"Let's get this cleaned and then we can rest. Rest will be good for us," Merlin said by way of answering and Arthur's shaking hand dropped back to his lap and he nodded. Merlin had to go back to the stream four times to replace the water, muttering little warming spells under his breath so the shocking cold wouldn't be so painful on the torn flesh. By the time he pulled out the salve he had taken from Gauis's stores Arthur was curling over himself in an unconscious attempt to escape the pain and Merlin went back to the waters edge once more, rinsing and refilling the pot, and held the jar out before him.

"Þu fornimst adl fram guman!" he cast the words at the jar, the same words he'd used to cure Gwen's father from the plague, and hoped to the energies that he wasn't being foolish. Hoped he wasn't revealing too much. With his back turned he didn't notice the way Arthur's fevered eyes, set at half mast, watched him intently.

He never noticed when Arthur watched him like that.

When he returned to the prince's side the blonde, dirt caked man did nothing to dissuade him from liberally smearing the medicine all over his wounds. He accepted a potion to hopefully break the fever without protest and choked down more water before Merlin wrapped his wounds once more. He pulled the blanket from the pile of belongings, so tired now his own hands were shaking and his vision was near constantly blurred. He lay Arthur on his side and spread the blanket over his legs before stretching out alongside him. Then, very slowly and with clear intent, he pulled at Arthur's arm so the ill man's chest was rolling half over his own, his head pillowed on Merlin's shoulder and his wounds had no chance of being pressed into the dirt covered ground.

Arthur's entire body went taught as a stick and for a long, tense moment Merlin feared he would protest the arrangements, against all sense. Then Arthur took in a shaky breath and very slowly relaxed into him. It was a while before his near panicked breathing calmed and Merlin lay still the entire struggle.

"Need to watch," Arthur mumbled into his shoulder, "trackers…"

"Shhh," Merlin closed his eyes, feeling the pressure to sleep close in on him. "It's taken care of. Nobody will find us here. Rest. You're safe."

The moment Arthur's body went completely slack over his Merlin lost his own battle against slumber, the stress and pain and loss of sleep for what felt like forever finally too much for him.

**ΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦ**

Merlin stirred once in the early afternoon light, Arthur breathing heavily on his shoulder and not even twitching at the slight movement. For long minutes Merlin listened carefully as footsteps moved through the forest near them, soft conversations murmured about how the trail ended, how there was nothing more to track, how they had no idea where Prince Arthur's prisoner and accomplice had gone. He listened as the trackers (Merlin did not recognize them for whenever tracking was needed in his presence Arthur was always there to take the mantle) discussed that he and Arthur must have used the stream to disguise their wanderings.

Merlin heard the unease in their voices, the mutterings about not bringing prisoner Baranak before Uther at the foundations of his own castle. Of the determination to find him so Arthur could be avenged. Of their decision to follow the stream and hopefully pick up the trail further down. When they moved on, not fifteen paces from where he and Arthur rested, from where their horse rested, Merlin breathed a soft sigh of relief and drifted back to sleep.

"I'll kill you," Arthur murmured into his chest sometime in the late evening, waking him once more and Merlin felt cotton headed and alarmed as Arthur's fingers dug into his rib cage, sharply. He squeezed and released, squeezed and released, and Merlin realized with a start that the man was dreaming. "do this-" his voice was gravelly and choked and completely foreign to Merlin's experienced ears. "-do this- life is forfeit. end you. don't." Merlin couldn't help the tears the pricked his eyes at the desperation in Arthur's voice. The fear, the pain, the sheer misery he would never allow himself to show were it his choice and Merlin turned his head slightly and brushed his lips across Arthur's sweaty brow.

"It's okay," he hummed softly into the dirty hair. "It's okay, I'm here now. Nobody's going to hurt you anymore. I'm here."

Arthur settled almost instantly, tense body relaxing, his fingers holding more than gripping and Merlin, his head clearer than it had been when he'd lain down, moved carefully out from under Arthur in the darkness. He checked the horse, and then made Arthur stir, eat and drink, though Arthur was distinctly unhappy about it. He cleaned the wounds again, they already looked a hundred times better from the poultice, no longer flaming with the beginnings of deep infection, no longer dripping crimson or sick, milky white. He put out the small torch light he used to see by and shuffled back in place, Arthur not protesting the positioning at all this time, sighing shakily into Merlin's shoulder before falling asleep once again.

It was a long time before Merlin was able to follow.

When he awoke next it was to the cool press of air on his body and a loss of weight that nearly had him startling up in panic. The soft splashing of water very close by settled him and he cracked his eyes open in the early morning light to investigate.

Arthur was awake.

He had stripped bare and was kneeling in the small stream, cupping water up over his face and then beginning to rub it into his hair. His skin was pale in the sunbeams, the bruises on his wrists not as bad anymore but still looking black in comparison to the ivory skin. Merlin looked to the burn wound on his torso, the skin pulling together faster than was natural and looking less painful than it had mere hours before. Then his eyes caught on the bruises he hadn't seen before. Deep and black, blacker than the bands on his wrist, purple around the black, small and numerous and pressed deep into his thigh, wrapped around his hips, pressed so low on the small of his back. The perfect size for strong fingers.

The long, hard line of a bruise that Merlin hadn't investigated fully earlier now much clearer, more defined, the press of a hard, sharp edge over hip and lower belly. Like a table. Like the table covered in candle drippings and the night guards dinner plate.

The dizziness Merlin had finally rid with his sleep came back all at once. He closed his eyes to this new image seared in his mind, swallowed compulsively against its implications, and took a breath that felt like it stabbed right into his chest.

He heard Arthur growl in frustration and opened his eyes again, waiting to be asked for help, but Arthur didn't appear to know Merlin was awake. He was frustrated with cupping water over his head, it was taking too long, and Merlin very carefully took another breath and schooled his face. He sat up on the bedroll, ignoring the twinge in his back from sleeping on the ground, and reached for the pot.

"Here," he called softly and held it up when Arthur looked sharply over. At Arthur's considering nod he half tossed half slid it within his reach and didn't stick around to watch as Arthur carefully picked it up and began dousing his hair more thoroughly. "I'm going to check on the horse," Merlin announced, very proud of how bored and steady he sounded, and tripped on a root as he moved off through the trees.

The mare was where he'd left her, the area around her picked clear of grass and Merlin moved her to another spot where she happily set to work.

He couldn't help leaning his back to a tree as his shaking legs threatened to give out, and slid carefully down until his knees were practically pressed to his chest. He tilted his head back to stare at the canopy for a long time, very carefully trying not to think at all about what he suspected he had just learned of Arthur's imprisonment.

It didn't work. The fury, the sheer rage at the atrocity, the maliciousness, the…Merlin didn't even have words. He couldn't find the words and he wanted to sob but instead he suffered the anger bubbling like a live thing just beneath his skin. Arthur had to take his enemies life for the spell to break, but he came to the decision that if Arthur, for whatever reason, was not able to kill Edgar Baranak when the time came then Merlin- Merlin would really have no problem finishing the job. Merlin would find a spell from the dark book that Gaius forbid him to look at and flay the man's skin from his bones. He'd-

"Are you quite finished resting for the morning?" Arthur's even, unimpressed tone cut through the heart of his darkest thoughts and he startled, looking to find his prince carefully sliding the soft saddle over their horses back. His movements were still pained but clearly no longer overwhelming. His face was flushed from illness, but not from the fever of the day before, that had broken in the early evening. "Honestly Merlin I would have thought you'd gotten enough sleep with the day and a half of lounging around you've imbibed in already."

"That _I've_ imbibed in?" He couldn't help the automatic incredulous cut to his tone and Arthur looked over at him with a raised eyebrow, daring him to continue. Merlin ignored it. "I'll have you know that I was the one that kept us both astride this horse all night before we _both_ took rest here."

"And yet I'm the one packing the horse while you're sitting on your arse staring at birds," Arthur tightened the girth, turning away to hide the grimace of pain the action no doubt caused and Merlin was on his feet instantly, worried and trying not to show it. Arthur didn't always respond well to people truly caring over him, not on any personal level anyway. "Here's an idea, how about you try and cobble something together for breakfast before we both relapse from starvation, hm?"

Merlin didn't waste any time arguing over that order, both glad for something to distract himself with and for the fact that Arthur, for the first time since being thrown into the dungeon, was requesting a meal. He didn't make any comment as Arthur managed only half of the meager offerings, but was relieved when he drank deeply from the stream and ignored all the jibes about his cooking abilities.

It wasn't until they were once again ahorse, Arthur not hesitating to ask the creature to drop to her knees in care of his healing injuries, that Merlin thought about how deliberately disrupting Arthur could be to Merlin's thought process. He wondered if Arthur took care to distract all his servants from their deep, dark thoughts, but he knew the answer was a resounding no.

It wasn't until midday when Merlin, trying not to press into Arthur's back as they rode (desperately trying not to clutch too heavily over the mans hidden bruises as he held on) that he thought to ask his prince exactly where they were going.

"Where do you _think_ we're going Merlin," he shot back with impatience and Merlin rolled his eyes.

"If I knew I_ clearly_ wouldn't be asking you. I've never been to these parts before, it's all unfamiliar to me."

"You know proper royalty would take punishment for that insolent tone out of your hide," he responded dryly. Merlin fished about his leg for the water skin, uncapped it and passed it forward. Arthur took it without hesitance.

"Well it's a good thing you're not proper," he took the skin back and had a drink of his own. He contemplated shoving another potion down Arthur's gullet and decided to wait until they stopped for meal.

"It's a good thing for you that I prefer the stockades to the noose. It has been a while since your last visit to them if I recall."

"It's true," though the last time Arthur had locked him in the stocks for misbehavior he'd spent just as much time visiting him throughout the afternoon as he had away. And he'd let him out earlier than he'd said he would so Merlin could fetch him his supper of cooled chicken and boiled potato. "Though you're so often lost without me at your beck and call that I fear the separation might be more than you can handle."

"I suppose we'll find out soon enough," he growled back, though Merlin could hear the very faint amusement in his tone and that, at least, was a small victory, before Arthur swallowed and gently steered the horse around a felled tree. "I do believe there is a war that needs to be foiled," he announced loftily, like it was no big thing though the grip on the reins said otherwise. "We're already a day and a half behind, but I plan to be there before the siege begins."

"Siege?" Merlin swallowed, fear spiking through him at the thought of all the death Baranak was planning on bringing to his own people as well as Arthur's.

"Yes, siege," Arthur gave an aggrieved huff. "Sir Holden will be in charge, Baranak's heir is too far removed to arrive within time to lead and too young to properly rule through battle. Their army is small, they will need the protection of the castle walls once Camelot attacks, though it won't be enough to help them." Arthur shifted slightly in his seat, and Merlin leaned back to make sure he didn't brush against his back.

"No, no I know about the siege," Merlin declared softly, closing his eyes in the hope that it would settle the slight dizzy spell that attacked him. "I don't know why I sounded surprised, of course you would want to go there." He swallowed thickly as the spell mercifully receded, and opened his eyes to the back of Arthur's sweaty neck, his hair curling slightly at the nape. "But how did you know? I never mentioned Edgar's motivations to you."

"Please Merlin," Arthur scoffed softly, not bothering to hide the weariness in his tone as he shifted again, sucking in a near silent sharp breath at the pain as he futilely sought a comfortable perch. "I've known Edgar since we were children. I know his thirst for power, I have known his lust for cruelty since we became young men, I have seen how he treats his servants and how he preens with nobles. If I were he," he snorted darkly and Merlin swallowed thickly once more, "if I were in his place now, with the _merit_ for retribution and the backing of all of Camelot, then claiming Baranak's kingdom would be the only sound retribution. I'm frankly surprised he hasn't moved to attack his lands sooner."

"Your father," Merlin faltered slightly and started again when Arthur's shoulders stiffened. "King Uther was hesitant to respond so swiftly to bloodshed." Arthur took a slow breath and then nodded.

"Yes. He and Camilus were good friends, it was one of the few alliances we could trust to never weaken or crumble. His son-" he snarled and then paused a moment to control the fierce anger that flooded his tones, his body trembling slightly in rage and Merlin couldn't help thinking of the bruises Arthur wouldn't let him touch while rubbing poultice into his wounds. "His son is not deserving of the blood of such a man. He is unworthy of his kingdom."

They rode in silence for a while after that, picking their way through the forest as the sun began to dip to the west. It wasn't long before Arthur began sagging more and more, his arms drooping to his lap until the horse was basically steering herself. Merlin carefully wrapped his arm back around his chest, holding him lightly so he wouldn't slip if he fell asleep. Arthur sighed heavily but lifted his tired arms again.

"How do we break the curse?" he asked with a rough voice after another long bout of silence. Merlin curled his fingers in Arthur's shirt before relaxing, unable to hide the nerves of discussing magic with anyone but Gaius. He stayed quiet a moment too long apparently, when Arthur impatiently dug an elbow back and gently knocked him in the ribs. "Come on, I know you must have an idea of what's going on. You and Gaius always know," there was a warning in his voice that Merlin wasn't quite sure of, but he hadn't been planning on hiding his knowledge about this curse from Arthur –that would be ridiculous- so he unclenched his fingers and began fumbling for the bag by his thigh.

"The only thing I could come up with is that you need to kill Baranak."

"Well…that seems simple enough," Arthur decided, leaning back slightly.

"I'm assuming this means Edgar is still shite with a sword," Merlin fervently hoped aloud, because at the rate they were going Arthur wouldn't be healed enough for any kind of fair battle. Though that had, admittedly, never stopped him in past circumstance. It certainly wouldn't slow him down now, not with the kingdom at stake.

"He never did enjoy sparring, but he was King Baranak's heir and has been trained by their best knights. You've seen us spar."

"Well, you certainly don't sound concerned," Merlin muttered, because despite the recommendation Arthur came across as positively derisive.

"He's never come close to besting me in a tournament, nor in practice. I am not concerned." He said it with the brashness and confidence that he always held for his fighting skills and his tone left nothing to question. The way he was sagging back slowly in Merlin's embrace left everything to question, but Merlin wisely did not mention this. Instead he swallowed down the cold worry that crawled up his throat and pressed the tonic he had unearthed from the bag into Arthur's hand and took the leather reins. "What's this?" Arthur asked even as he fumbled with the cork stopper.

"To help ease the pain sire, and speed your recovery." Arthur's hands froze at raising it to his lips.

"This will put me to sleep?"

"That's not the purpose for it, but I'm guessing that decrease in pain will increase your bodies need to rest." Merlin could practically feel the stubborn frown creeping along Arthur's face, though he couldn't see it, and the stubborn arse began to lower the potion.

"The pain is not unbearable and we need to keep moving. I will take this once we-"

"You'll take it now," Merlin happily cut him off, trying for cheerful but knowing the strained warning came through loud and clear. Still Arthur made no move to take the potion.

"Excuse me?" he asked darkly, turning his head slightly to the side and giving Merlin a great view of his inner ear. "It's times like these that I truly believe you forget who you're addressing," he warned sharply and Merlin snorted with just as much sharpness.

"You'd be surprised how difficult it is to forget such a prat," he wrapped both reins in one hand and gently rested his other on Arthur's wrist, making no move to restrain him. He could feel the trembling in the mans fingers and bit back a grieved sigh. "Arthur," he softened his tone, "there is no shame in taking rest and comfort while the road offers it. We will keep moving, I will keep you securely astride should you sleep."

"You? And I suppose you'll keep us headed in the right direction? You can barely see straight with that headache of yours."

"I can see just fine," he denied, which was thankfully true at this particular moment, "but you need to heal. How do you plan to take back your kingdom if you're too sick to fight?" It was perhaps a low blow and Arthur clearly didn't appreciate it as his grip tightened on the delicate bottle to the point Merlin was suddenly worried he would crush it. Then he took a deep, calming breath and forced his body to relax the way Merlin had seen him do at a hundred dinner parties and council meetings.

"Is it one of your tonics?" he wondered, which gave Merlin brief pause before he shook his head.

'No, it's one of Gaius's. You've had it before while recovering." Arthur nodded tightly and apparently needed another moment of decision making before he pulled it to his lips and drank it down in one swallow. He made no complaint of the bitter taste and accepted the water silently when Merlin offered. The silence was strained for a while before Arthur's posture finally relaxed, to Merlin's relief.

"Keep us on track?" Arthur asked with a sleep filled voice, obviously still fighting to stay awake.

"Of course," he assured instantly, tightening his hold on his prince. Arthur leaned back into him more solidly, his head lolling on his shoulder.

"Should be at border by midnight," he slurred, breathing sharply a moment and starting to sit forward but Merlin easily –too easily- held him in place. Arthur's shoulders and chest tightened for a moment before his muscles relaxed more completely and Merlin shifted slightly to carry the weight. "Don't get lost" he mumbled, almost too quiet for Merlin to hear, but hear it he did and a warm smile curled his lips.

"Git," he muttered back, perhaps a tad too fondly. "Sleep. I've got you."

It was a long, painful ride to the border but Merlin didn't dare stop until the stars were out and their mare began to falter in her steps. The ache in his head was almost too much to work through, but he forced himself to get her to food and to clean Arthur's wounds once more. Arthur remained silent throughout, his eyes dark in the night as he watched Merlin work.

When it came time to bed down on the single roll once more Merlin finally hesitated, kneeling by Arthur's side before carefully admonishing himself for his caution. He'd been touching Arthur near constantly since they stole away from Camelot, had had his arms wrapped around him in one manner or another since this horror of a journey began. It was no different now. He slipped onto the thin roll, glad there were no rocks beneath that he had missed earlier, and after another hesitation he pulled Arthur to drape across his chest once more. Arthur helped more this time, a sure sign that his wounds were getting better by the hour, but it was impossible not to notice him pause before he lay his arm over Merlin's chest. Impossible to not notice when Merlin was looking for it so vigilantly. After Arthur silently pillowed his cheek on Merlin's shoulder it was also impossible not to notice the stiffness of his body, the tension thrumming through every part of him in contact with Merlin's own. They lay there in silence a long while, Arthur's breath shaky in his throat and when it seemed as though he would never be able to relax Merlin decided it must be from the contact.

God knows if what Merlin suspected had happened to Arthur was true then touching another person in this setting was bound to be distressing. The hot rage swelled in his chest once more but he calmly fought it back. There were enough leaves around to make a comfortable nest for himself and he could stuff them under the bedroll to help prop Arthur up as well. Surely it would be more comfortable for the man. With a thick, uneasy swallow he moved to pull gently away. He didn't make it past shifting his shoulders before Arthur's fingers dug sharply into his rib cage with the unyielding grip Merlin was always so impressed by. Merlin froze, unable to keep his own breathing steady now as heartache started to well up inside.

"Arthur" he started, hushed, but he didn't get a chance to explain his intentions when the iron grip squeezed again in warning.

"Stay," Arthur ordered, as unsteady as Merlin had ever heard him. Merlin swallowed heavily and closed his eyes tight.

"I thought you might be more comfortable-"

"Stay," Arthur ordered again, firmer, and Merlin easily gave up any intention to move. After a long moment Arthur's grip eased though his body did not and they lay in the darkness listening to the night sounds. Merlin wished for the warm crackle of a fire but he dared not light one when Camelot's skilled trackers could be so close. He could feel Arthur rhythmically clenching and unclenching his jaw, until he finally relaxed into Merlin fully, his breath still unsteady and Merlin remained quiet, the pounding in his head making his skull ache where it rested on the ground. "I will never condemn your touch," Arthur's voice croaked softly into his chest and he felt his throat work against his arm as he swallowed, "nor fear it. You need not pull away." Silent tears came unbidden to Merlin's eyes and he found he didn't have words to express how humbled he felt in that moment. Not knowing what else to do he pulled his arms tighter around Arthur, hoping it wouldn't be too much, but Arthur made no protest and not long after Merlin felt him slip away to slumber.

It took Merlin much longer to escape the pain, both in his head his and heart.

**ΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦ**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 8

When morning came Arthur spoke nothing of the few words shared in the darkness and Merlin, wiser than many gave him credit for, did not ask of it. Instead he handed over his magically enhanced salve to Arthur and left to tend the horse, hoping the man would take the hint and tend to hidden wounds he would otherwise refuse to acknowledge. When he came back Arthur was moving with more fluidity than he had since Edgar Baranak had so ruthlessly upheaved their lives, the bedding already rolled and waiting at his feet. He wordlessly exposed his back to Merlin, bidding the wounds be checked and Merlin wasted no time gently smoothing the healing ointment in place.

"The wounds are healing well," he prodded gently at the worst of them, glad to see that they had closed enough that it was a long, brown scab in place of an open, festering tear.

"Yes," Arthur agreed blandly. "Surprisingly. I had not expected to be able to move so well for a few weeks yet, if at all."

"Yes, well," Merlin shifted on his feet, sudden unease making him fumble the ointment jar and nearly drop it to the forests floor, "Gaius is the kings physician for good reason."

"Yes, that has never been in question," Arthur hummed, unable to hide a flinch as Merlin pressed into a tender welt. "He seems to have out done himself this time. If I didn't know any better I'd say it was almost magical how well it works."

Merlin swallowed thickly and pasted a wide, unconcerned grin on his face as Arthur turned and allowed him to examine the burn. It was still weeping clear liquid in places, but was coming along well. Just not well enough for Merlin's like. "Magical or not you're still nowhere close to healed. The surface of the wounds, and the illnesses they've wrought seem to be under control but the damage was deep. You will need days before you begin recovering your energy."

"We have one day," Arthur announced firmly and Merlin knew better than to argue, well aware of what was at stake, "and then we shall have reached the castle." He shrugged his shirt back in place, carefully, and Merlin pushed back to his feet, suddenly weary under the intense blue gaze. "Will you be able to make it?" He asked directly and Merlin, surprised and perhaps feeling a bit hurt and insulted at the apparent doubt, scoffed.

"Will _I_ be able to make it? I don't think I'm the one we need to be concerned with here."

"If you think I haven't noticed that the pain you're suffering is getting worse then you are sorely underestimating my intelligence. I see a great deal more than you give me credit for." Merlin paled as these words fell from Arthur's lips even as he rallied to appear unaffected. It was true enough, the pain had not diminished at all with the too few hours of sleep he'd managed in the night, but the way Arthur was watching him now…it was unfamiliar, at least in relation to Merlin. It was imploring, and demanding it felt like he was trying to look inside Merlin, to suss out his secrets. Which was wrong, because Arthur had long been fond of declaring that Merlin wasn't important enough to have secrets.

"I'm fine," he insisted instead, because he had no other options at the moment, and Arthur's eyes softened a little in the corner, a bit of his sudden defensiveness falling away and the exhaustion once again becoming known.

"You're not," Arthur dismissed his claim offhand. "Is it getting worse because we're gaining proximity to Edgar, or because we're running out of time and the spell's hold is deepening?"

"Either?" Merlin sighed and pressed the heel of his hand to his temple, wishing the throbbing would stop. "Both?" he met Arthur's steady gaze and shrugged. "Does it matter? I'm not staying behind, regardless," he stated and was unable to keep the note of iron certainty from his voice. Arthur, for the first time since they left Camelot, smiled. It was not a happy smile, his eyes were dark with torment and weariness, but it was an attempt, which was as heartening as his attempts to insult Merlin.

"I don't think you know how to stay behind Merlin. Even if I ordered it you'd find a way to follow me." He turned and bent to gingerly pick up the bedding, managing to keep the pain he must be feeling from his face. He was already practicing hiding his sorrows, preparing for the confrontation with anyone that wasn't Merlin.

Merlin hated it.

"Of course I would," he agreed regardless and carefully pulled the bag of supplies from his prince as he led them to the horse. "It's no fun hearing about what a fool you've made of yourself second hand." Arthur graced him with a haughty glare that was truer to character than the aloofness he was aiming for.

"You'll be hearing it from the stocks if you're not careful," he warned, strapping the blankets in place and pressing a hand to the horse's thick neck.

"I've heard that one before sire, frankly it's getting a little timeworn." He stood back as Arthur asked the horse to drop to her knees once more, not looking at Merlin as he slowly mounted her and she pushed back to standing with a rolling snort.

"Get on the horse Merlin," he ordered by way of rebuttal and Merlin followed the order, nearly unable to swing up himself as a wave of pain struck his head and almost knocked his knees out from under him. Arthur reached behind him, a move that no doubt cause him great pain, and steadied Merlin. "Good?" He asked softly and Merlin nodded, his body aching with the want to rest and escape the pressure. A moment later he felt a small, cool object pressed to his hand and opened eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed. It was a vial of pain easing tonic.

"No, it's the last one," he informed Arthur, who responded by pressing it harder into the back of his hand.

"I know," he huffed impatiently. "Take it, you'll need the rest if you're going to be any use once we reach my army."

"You need it-"

"Not right now I don't," Arthur stubbornly pressed harder and Merlin, losing the will to argue in the face of the ache, turned his hand and accepted the potion. It tasted as vile as he remembered and he imagined it began working immediately as he already began to feel lethargic. The guilt at taking the last of the potion crept up as his eyes began to close. "Now you'll suffer too much," he heard himself say, ignoring how Arthur firmly grasped both Merlin's forearms over his belly to help secure him in place.

"No, I won't," he denied, which was so like him. Stupid, stubborn, arrogant- "You'll just need to use your words to help me, instead of the potions."

"Words," Merlin agreed, beginning to drift between the motion of the animal carrying them and sleep. "Okay." He pressed his forehead into Arthur's shoulder, and rolled his face to rest more comfortably. Between one moment and the next he was gone, fast asleep. Too asleep to notice the hand clench briefly tighter over his arms, or the way one shoulder drooped lower to alleviate pressure to a wound.

"Okay," Arthur whispered to himself, taking deep breaths as he accepted Merlin's unknown acknowledgment. "Okay."

**ΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦ**

"What have you to report?" Arthur's voice snapped demandingly and Uther looked up from the map he was pouring over to see a messenger standing in the entranceway to their tent. The broad shouldered man took Arthur's words as permission to enter and stepped forth, bowing slightly to Uther and then his son, who merely waved a hand impatiently for an answer.

"We have been unable to locate King Baranak and his accomplice at this time," he announced. "Their last known whereabouts led away from Baranak's kingdom, but we can not state with certainty that he remains in flight away from both Camelot and his own lands."

"So you have no idea where he is or where he might be going," Arthur stated flatly and the hunter's messenger nodded. "And I'm to understand that you are the best trackers Camelot has to offer?"

"Arthur," Uther warned and dismissed the messenger with a nod.

"Forgive my displeasure father, but it is surely understandable that our message to Baranak's forces will be greatly hindered without his execution at their foundation-"

"Enough," he cut his son off sharply and frowned at him, taking a good look at his only child. Tall, handsome, strong, but with fewer calluses on his hands and frillier clothes than he remembered. "Do not dare lecture me on the machinations of war," he growled. "I am well aware of what his continued survival will mean. It will, however, not delay us. We will discuss terms with Sir Holden in the morning, and should he decide to not surrender Baranak's lands and titles to us then we will commence with the siege." He could not deny the pain at the thought of causing such havoc on his passed friends lands, on people he had feasted with, no matter the necessity.

"Holden will not surrender," Arthur stated with a certainty that was unwise and brash, but Uther was finished discussing this for the day. He had had an aching headache since he'd set out on this tragedy of a war and continued discussion was not helping. He turned back to the castle plans that Arthur had roughly sketched out from memory; if he had to take over the land he wanted to do so as quickly and with as little loss to life as possible. It was the least he could do for the memory of his friend; the least he could do to not make the people suffer for the mistakes of their foolish young King.

**ΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦ**

"I'm awake!" Merlin came to with a snort, jerking back from the body he was practically draped over, and stilling as soon as awareness settled in.

"I suppose this means you're finished drooling on my shirt then," Arthur grumbled quietly back. Merlin blinked, eyed the obviously wet patch on Arthur's shoulder blade, and chose to ignore both it and the painful drumming between his ears in favour of looking about them. Clouds had rolled in, dark and dreary and making the air heavy with the threat of rain. Above them the trees swayed in the wind, branches laden with leaves clashing as they protected the forest floor from the worst of it. It was then Merlin noticed Arthur's shivering. It was subtle and came in brief tremors, but it was there. Merlin very gently shifted and Arthur, seeming to realize he still had one hand clamped over Merlin's forearms to hold him secure, abruptly released him. His movement was slow as he stretched the limb out and then buried it in the thick mane at the mare's nape. Steadying himself.

"Have you eaten? Had anything to drink?" Merlin asked and Arthur waved a hand imploringly at the water skin resting by his thigh. He shivered again and Merlin frowned. "We should stop sire, have some food and rest a bit."

"No," Arthur decided, which of _course_ he would, magic forbid he take a thought for his own health when such a dire task lay ahead of them. Merlin worried the fever might be coming back.

"Arthur-"

"You can pass me some of the dried meat and fruit if it makes you feel better, but we cannot stop yet," Arthur ground out. "The clouds are too thick, nightfall will arrive sooner than we expect and it will be far more difficult to navigate in the dark without stars. We must move until we cannot."

"How far are we?" Merlin twisted carefully to find said food, eyes briefly looking into the sparse foliage around, not seeing any familiar markings.

"With luck we'll be a stones throw to the castle by night fall, assuming, of course, that we don't run into any complications along the way. My father will have scouting parties patrolling the woods and paths leading towards Baranak's castle to prevent surprise attacks from behind. We need to be careful." Arthur sounded weary, his voice breaking into a brief cough though he nodded his thanks as Merlin pressed a dried strip of venison into his hand. The brief hesitation before he raised the food to his lips spoke enough to Merlin about his lack of appetite. They rode on in silence, Merlin deciding against requesting a break to drain his bladder and making sure Arthur consumed a few piece of dried apple before he waved Merlin off.

The sway of the horse, the warmth of her body, lulled Merlin into a false sense of security even as he kept a close eye on Arthur's flagging energy and slowly increasing tremors. Three times Arthur stilled their mount behind a thick set of shrubbery, silencing Merlin with a raised hand and waiting, pained blue eyes slowly taking in their surroundings until he deemed the threat past. Merlin, having difficulty hearing the slighter sounds beneath the pounding in his head, only caught sight of the back of one of Camelot's patrol's, and even then it could have been a deer for all he had seen. He ignored how Arthur's hand fell to his hip in time like these, fist clenching tightly as he was reminded that he did not have a sword at hand, and breathed easier when they began shifting their way through the forest once more.

As the evening light began to wane the skies lived up to their promise of rain, the water heavy enough to breach the trees and slowly begin to soak their clothes. It wasn't long before Merlin could feel the cold press of it on his skin, trickling down his neck, chilling him unpleasantly. Arthur began to slouch more and more in his seat until Merlin forcefully took the reins from him and gently held him in place. It was the lack of complaint that had him most worried, even more so than the near constant shivering. Enough so that when they came across a heaving pile of moss covered rocks and he noticed a slight overhang he pulled them to a stop. It was enough to rouse Arthur from wherever he had gone to in his mind.

"What? No stopping, there's still light," he protested, coughing once more to clear his throat.

"Shut-up," Merlin muttered in his ear as he stiffly swung his leg over the rump of the animal and gracelessly slid down her side until he was on his own feet. He kept a hand on Arthur to hold him up and ignored his protests as he had the horse kneel and began to gently drag him off her back. "She needs rest," Merlin pet her flank and, under Arthur's dark glare, he helped him limp slowly over to the outcropping and left him leaning against the rock. He pranced off to take care of his bodily needs then, the relief almost blissful, and he returned to find his Prince returning from the other side of the rock, clearly having the same intentions.

At that point it was quick work to pull their soggy bedroll and supplies from the horse, dropping them under the overhang and have Arthur sit down, leaning forward so as to keep his back from the hard, lichen covered rock. Arthur watched silently as Merlin dashed about under the rain, gathering the driest bits of wood he could find. With the rain and the cover of rocks they should be safe enough for a small fire. Even if they weren't Merlin would have done it anyway, chilled to the bone and only imagining how ill Arthur must feel.

They had one dry shirt buried in the leather saddlebags and Merlin wasted no time dragging Arthur's old one gently over his head, cleaning his horrid wounds, and dressing him in the dry one. Then he pulled the flint stones out and, with determination, set out to start the small fire. All the while Arthur remained silent, steadily watching and Merlin had no difficulty picturing the blue gaze in the darkness, bloodshot and achingly tired. It was unnerving, more so than usual, and it became more so the longer Merlin struggled with the stones and damp wood and moss and failed to get flame.

"Problem Merlin?" He asked after long moments of struggle and Merlin, cold and miserable and irritated pressed his lips in a tight facsimile of a smile and half tilted his head to look at the man.

"Problem? No, why ever would you think that? Clearly everything is just brilliant," he snapped the stones together harshly, creating sparks but nothing catching. He'd always been shite at starting a fire this way, but he generally managed to hide that fact with a quick spell or disappearing on an errand until another knight or servant started it for him. After a few more strikes he paused, bowed his shoulders in frustration and took a calming breath before he chanced a look to Arthur. He was still watching him steadily, no rancour or impatience on his face, nor blame or mocking that was generally present in the face of Merlin's small failures. He was calm, steady, and assessing, which was more bothersome than any other look Merlin ever saw on him. He looked like he was waiting, but not for the fire. Merlin swallowed thickly under the gaze and turned his attention back to trying to start the fire.

Around them the rain beat softly on the ground, a cool breeze making his hands near numb with chill, the occasional spatter of water still jumping past their limited shelter. Merlin began breathing heavily through his nose to calm his nerves, his frustration, the sheer feeling of helplessness at the entire bloody situation that he not only failed to prevent, but failed to fix before Arthur was…before he was…hurt, and now he couldn't even start the simplest of fires to try and chase away the cold. To try and ward off sickness that would no doubt attack Arthur with a vengeance under these conditions. It was unfair. It was cruel. It was-

"Merlin," Arthur's voice, quiet and steady so in control it calmed Merlin's racing emotions, at least slightly. He paused in his work and looked over more fully now, waiting to see what his prince needed. Arthur watched him, a knowing look on his face mixed with a brief flash of sadness that Merlin had no context for. Arthur breathed in slowly, clearly preparing to say something important. Had Merlin had even an inkling of an idea of what was to be said he might have reacted with slightly more poise.

"Use your words," Arthur ordered, and then waited expectantly, almost grandly despite being hunched over in half soaked clothing and sitting on damp ground, shaking. Merlin frowned in confusion.

"My words? Usually you're trying to get me to stop talking," he flexed his fingers, preparing to check on Arthur's temperature and wishing he could see him more clearly. He did not expect the nearly pained huff of irritation.

"Merlin," Arthur began again, slowly, "use your words to ignite the fire."

There was a moment where Merlin was caught wondering how severe Arthur's illness must have grown since they'd dismounted, because clearly he wasn't speaking the common tongue any more. It was a brief moment. When his meaning sharpened clearly in Merlin's mind he couldn't help the feeling of his blood running cold, slowing and stopping within his body for what felt like years, only to rush forward in a burning flare of heat blossoming in his chest. He flinched back, not aware he had done so until his bottom landed on the soft earth and his hands dug into the dirt to steady him. The pounding of his heart increased the pounding in his head, making thought difficult, making reactions slow, and he couldn't help the instinctive feel of fear and uncertainty. How could he not, when the secrecy had been trained into him from childhood. It took him a long moment to steady the instinct, to let the surge of adrenalin calm, and to recognize that Arthur wasn't, in fact, trying to execute him with the one dagger they had. Or the wooden spoon, because Merlin was fairly certain Arthur could turn the dullest of tools into weapons.

Arthur was just watching him, his face steadily cast more and more in shadow as the last of the evening light receded. There was still no anger, no murderous intent, but Merlin wasn't sure what to make of it, what to think. He was panicking, clearly reading more into what Arthur had actually meant. He couldn't possibly know.

"You must be mistaken sire," Merlin swallowed heavily, forcing his voice to remain steady despite his shaking nerves. "Words can not start a flame."

There was a tense stretch of silence, foreboding and weighing on Merlin's shoulders in the worst way as he watched the man he had grown to respect more than any other cast judgement before him. When Arthur sighed, the irritation in his tone was at least familiar and therefore welcome even as he now stared daggers at Merlin.

"Do you take me for an idiot, Merlin?" He asked softly. The question sat in the air between them, untouched for a long moment, before Merlin swallowed and shook his head.

"No." No he did not believe Arthur Pendragon to be an idiot. A prat, a git, an arrogant man with faults like any other, who was raised to be naive about many common plights and expectant of what sometimes felt like lavish royalties. A man who had responsibilities for people he would never meet sitting like an anvil on his shoulders since childhood; raised to lead, choosing to honour, and whom Merlin had (quickly) learned felt much and hid more of himself than any other he knew. Apparently he hid much more than Merlin had ever credited him for.

He'd never thought him an idiot.

Perhaps he should have thought himself one though.

"Light the fire Merlin," he ordered softly. Merlin was many things but a coward he was not, and he wasn't about to start now.

"Leohtbora."

The fire flashed into life, warmth immediately reaching out to them, perhaps hotter and dimmer than a fire its size should be but that was intentional. The wood sizzled and cracked. Merlin blinked slowly and looked back to Arthur, his hardened, near gaunt face tired under the orange glow dancing on his body. Merlin watched him, waiting for the promise of execution.

It did not come. Instead Arthur just kept watching him, silent, tired, and clearly waiting for something more from Merlin. Merlin didn't think that something more was magic, but seeing as he'd apparently been discovered there was no turning back now. With a few more words he had their clothing dry, their bedding dry and warm, and the ground beneath them no longer soaked into their leggings. He instantly felt better and, as he was watching Arthur with focus, he noticed the minor softening of his shoulders as well. It still did not calm Merlin's racing heart, frayed nerves or pounding head.

"How long have you known?" he asked, voice nearly cracking he spoke so softly, and resisted reaching out as Arthur's hand shifted to hover over the burn wound on his stomach.

"Did you know your eyes glow when you use magic?" Arthur asked in response, his steady gaze even more unnerving now that Merlin had an insight into his thoughts.

"Yes. Will told me once, when we were children," he swallowed at the memory. "Like a demon." Will had been teasing of course, no real intention behind the comparison. It never really hurt because he never really thought about it. He chose not to.

"Nothing like a demon," Arthur growled and a little bit more of the fear Merlin was harbouring in his heart split away. "I would know."

"You would," Merlin agreed with a swallow, feeling shaky and cool. He'd spent hours upon hours imagining how this conversation, how the revealing of his greatest secret, would go. None of his imaginings had led to what looked an awful lot like quiet acceptance. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but you're a great deal calmer than I had ever imagined you would be, considering…" he trailed off and Arthur snorted, gingerly pulling open the sack of supplies and pulling out the hard clump of cheese and the last of their stale bread, halving them evenly and passing Merlin his share. He didn't flinch when their fingers grazed, though Merlin nearly did himself.

"I'd like to believe I have enough judgement of character to not fear you."

"You _never_ have to fear me!" Merlin hissed, the flames flaring brightly in accompaniment to his vehemence and Arthur raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Yes, I know, otherwise I would have had you removed long ago." The words were revealing enough and Merlin began casting about for when Arthur might have witnessed his sorcery. There were so many possibilities.

"If your father-"

"He will not find out," Arthur smoothly cut him off, words stated as fact though his eyes flashed in warning at Merlin. "Despite your occasional lack of regard for subtlety and secrecy. Honestly Merlin, did you think I wouldn't notice that every time we came across a magical beast I somehow managed to slay it despite being knocked out?" He shook his head, though only slightly so as to not aggravate his wounds and with a flash Merlin realized that he was still in considerable pain. He swallowed the guilt of having finished the pain remedy that morning.

"Honestly," Merlin was feeling a little put out now, now that the fear was giving way to sheer relief that he couldn't even describe. "I really thought you bought it. I make sarcastic comments all the time about it, you've never given me reason to believe you knew."

"I guessed, not knew," Arthur frowned into the fire, eyes pinched and clearly growing more tired by the moment. "There is a big difference and I do not believe in casting doubt without evidence, or casting doubt at all when I know that nothing but harm will come of it."

"You've committed treason to your own kingdom, for a servant," Merlin whispered, trying to wrap his head around it.

"Yes, more than once as it would seem, so try to not make me regret it." They sat in silence and ate the near rock hard bread and cheese, flavours sharp on his tongue.

"That's why you so easily accepted my belief in your identity, because you assumed that my magic is somehow helping me overcome the curse."

"_Is_ that why you were able to see through the curse when my own father can not?" There was a bitterness in Arthur's question, and a longing Merlin didn't understand, and he shrugged a response.

"I don't know, maybe." It wasn't much of an answer, but it was all he knew to give. "Still," he leaned forward and passed their dwindling water supply to Arthur, pretending to take a drink of his own when Arthur pressed it firmly back. "Before this," he swallowed and pointedly didn't look to where Arthur's hand still hovered protectively over his stomach, "to not say anything, to still allow me at your side, every day, every night, while you slept, while you ate…" while you were at your most vulnerable. He swallowed down the rest of his words and Arthur, for all the talking he had done tonight, seemed relieved.

"We go on foot from here in the morning, we're not far now and will need the stealth a horse can not provide," he announced and moved to the bedding, Merlin scrambling up to help him and perversely relieved that, after only a brief flinch at the sudden contact, Arthur allowed him to set up in their currently familiar arrangement. "The fire-"

"Will burn down before dawn. I have wards in place to conceal us from any search patrols. Rest now, tomorrow's a big day." Arthur snorted disbelievingly into Merlin's chest but did not argue the point. The fate of two kingdoms was at stake tomorrow; the knowledge that time was running out, that Arthur could be trapped (might even already be trapped) in a world that would see him as no more than a snake of a King who ruled through mistrust and treachery rested in both their hearts. No matter what happened, tomorrow they had to end this, for everyone's sake.

The fire crackled lightly, dancing with the patter of rain about them and Merlin tried to calm his still racing heart, tried to fall asleep after the overwhelming knowledge he had been gifted with that night. Beside him, Arthur lay with the familiar stiffness that bespoke of damages that would take much more to heal than the mere death of Edgar Baranak. For a long time they lay there, awake and exhausted, until Arthur's hand curled in the fabric of Merlin's shirt and he took a breath to speak.

"There are many that I respect in this life," he began, only heard because he was so close, "but few that I have had the freedom to trust, and fewer still that I would grant myself that freedom with." Merlin was pretty sure, for a moment there, that his heart stopped beating at the implications of the soft words.

"Same here," Merlin choked back, not daring to say more than that and perhaps tightening his arms more than strictly necessary around Arthur. So he came to understand that despite their many, monumental, differences, in some very crucial ways they weren't that different at all. After a while he began to murmur the healing spells softly, voice nearly masked by the storm as he focused the energies on Arthur. Not long after that Arthur relaxed enough to sleep. It would need to be enough.

**ΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦ**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 9

They awoke before the sun, the rain having given way to thick mists and the kind of worldly stillness that arose between the final moments of rest and a new day. They left everything they had behind with the exception of the water, food, and dagger that Arthur tucked between his loose belt and pants. Arthur's bruising peeked out from under his sleeves whenever he swung his arms wider than normal. Merlin recognized that he was warming his limbs up, like he was wont to do before training though this was a much slower and more careful method.

They climbed a steep, tree strewn hill, Merlin slipping in the old wet leaves more than once and earning an unimpressed glare from Arthur every time, though no scathing commentary as the object this morning was to remain quiet. Or not.

"This is why I can't take you hunting when I actually need to bring dinner back," Arthur hissed the third time Merlin belly flopped onto the ground. Merlin sighed to himself, it wasn't like he was slipping on purpose, crawled the last few feet to the hillcrest and froze. They had arrived.

Beside him Arthur was quiet a long moment, eyes darting this way and that in the early morning light as he took in the castle and Camelot's army. Red banners dangled limply in the still air, tents sat scattered for the higher ranked knights and lords and smoke curled up from small fires all throughout. The men who had managed to rest through the night were beginning to stir, preparing what could be their last meals, sharpening their blades one last time, checking the strings on their bows and cinching their armour into place. The noise of a morning heavy with the promise of death rose up to meet them and Merlin swallowed thickly.

"They've set up just out of reach of the castles archers," Arthur spoke softly as he took in the scene and then gestured towards the castles barbican, guard towers standing high on either side and blending seamlessly into a thick stone wall almost as tall as Camelot's. Behind it the water of the moat reflected the sunrise, though even Merlin could see it was more for irrigation purposes than protection, it was more of a narrow trench really. "Sir Holden will approach from the main gates for final negotiations not long from now. He will not succeed and, as I'm certain Baranak left strict orders that they protect the castle unto its fall, Holden will have no choice but to fight. He will retreat to the castle walls and the war will begin." He sounded cold as he said this, stating fact without the emotion of recourse but Merlin couldn't get upset. Arthur always turned hard before battle, shutting down his fears as much as possible in order to do what needed to be done. Merlin swallowed.

"How are we going to get you to Baranak and your father?" he wondered, eyeing the scores of men between them and the kings tent in the middle of it all. Arthur dragged his gaze from the group to give Merlin an undeservedly incredulous look.

"Perhaps I imagined it, but didn't we have a rather monumental discussion just last night about magic and your ability to wield it?"

Merlin blinked at him silently a moment, caught off guard by the ease Arthur said this with, before nodding.

"Yes, but-"

"So don't you have a spell for invisibility or something that can mask our approach?" Arthur asked with that haughty impatience that so often made Merlin wish he could turn him into a toad. It was refreshing, Merlin had begun to fear that he would only ever feel concern and remorse when he looked upon his prince after these long days. He felt better about the entire upcoming battle almost instantly.

"I don't know if it's slipped your notice," he hissed back, glad that there were still many thin trees and distance between them and the outskirts of the camp, "but studying magic in Camelot isn't exactly a hobby sane people make a habit of if they wish to keep their heads."

"You're anything but sane Merlin," Arthur snorted, both complimentary and derisively and it took great effort not to roll his eyes at him. "Do you have a spell or not?"

"I," Merlin hesitated and looked back out at the scores of men between them and their goal. "I remember reading one once, but I've never tried it, nor practised the words aloud."

"How hard can it be?" Arthur asked, lips twitching.

"How hard can it- look, it's not that easy to just-"

"Merlin," Arthur cut off his incised rant softly and turned where he lay on the ground to face Merlin, "I'm just asking that you try it. If it doesn't work, we'll figure out another way." Merlin deflated, how could he not in the face of that argument.

"Fine, fine, just give me a minute to try and remember it," he asked and Arthur nodded, turning back to study the ground before them. When he was ready Arthur sat almost unnaturally still as Merlin forcefully chanted the words, putting as much force into it as he could, before taking a calming breath and nodding when it was completed.

"That was for the both of us?" Arthur asked and at Merlin's nod he carefully pushed to a low crouch. "Right, let's go then," he ordered and Merlin followed instantly. If he'd expected Arthur to march right into the thick of it he would have been surprised when he kept to the brush, remaining concealed as they half jogged the perimeter until he pointed out a knight ducking into the trees just beyond them and crept after him.

"We'll test it first, shall we," Arthur grinned thinly, beads of sweat forming at his brow and making strands of his hair curl to his forehead. Just as the man began to pull his chainmail aside and tug at his pants strings Arthur stood up from the bushes and boldly walked right before him, stopping a few feet away and staring expectantly.

The man froze, a frown on his face as he stared right at Arthur but remained still. Arthur stared at him hard, quirking his head to the side a bit and narrowing his eyes. After a few long moments where Merlin began to feel the giddy relief of a spell well done the knight dropped his chainmail back in place and rested a hand on the hilt of his sword.

"'ew the 'ell are you?" he demanded roughly and Arthur straightened immediately.

"Well," he sighed, "it was worth a try." With a swift move he delivered a punishing right hook to the man's chin, sending him reeling to the side even as he prepared to follow through with another hit. The second punch was not needed however, when the man grunted and went crashing to the ground like a falling tree. Arthur stood over him, almost looking stunned, before satisfaction flittered briefly across his face and he looked over at Merlin smugly. "Must have a weak jaw," he muttered triumphantly as he moved to stiffly, kneel down by his side. "Come on Merlin, help me get his armour off," he ordered and Merlin scrambled out from behind the tree he had been using for cover and quickly did as asked.

What Merlin was not expecting was for Arthur to look at the protective chainmail and thinly padded undershirt and promptly hand it to Merlin.

"Put that on, quickly," he ordered and moved to help Merlin slide into it. Merlin shook his head.

"You should wear-"

"Not yet, it's too heavy," Arthur cut in quietly as Merlin was stuffed into the undergarment, the chill morning air uncomfortable on his skin through the brief moment of exposure. "It'll aggravate my wounds to much, tire me out too soon." The moment the heavy armour settled on his shoulders Merlin knew Arthur was right. He struggled to his feet under the unfamiliar weight and blinked as Arthur went about strapping on his sword belt.

"Swefe nu," Merlin softly cast the sleeping spell over the warrior they were stealing from as he began to shift on the ground and he instantly fell still, snoring lightly. Arthur looked at him with a raised eyebrow as he snapped the pauldron and guard brace into place. "I'm sorry the concealment spell-"

"Don't worry about it Merlin, it was a longshot from the beginning, as you said. You'll just have to practice it for next time. Now come on, we're running out of time," he ordered and took off, Merlin chasing after him and feeling ungainly in the ridiculously large, cumbersome armour. How Arthur and his knights made walking, let alone fighting, in this look easy he didn't think he would ever understand. He only stumbled twice and Arthur had a steady hand on his elbow both times for which he was grateful. When they reached the edge of the camp once more Arthur ducked behind a tree and Merlin, trying his best to look like he belonged, walked into the camp.

"Good morrow," he greeted the first knight that looked his way, perhaps a tad too brightly as the man glared and turned pointedly away from him. "Right, right," he muttered to himself, "not a good day when you're about to head off to battle." He swallowed the thick lump in his throat down and pushed the too large helmet back from where it slid down his forehead and began weaving around the mess of half awake men. It was only moments before he snagged what he needed and miraculously moved back to the woods without incident. Arthur met up with him instantly, clearly having been following him as he moved about, and took the dark leather brigandine from him. He carefully pulled the material armour on over a thinly padded shirt, tugging it into place over his shoulders and keeping the strap around his waist loose. He tried to hide his look of discomfort but Merlin was too attuned to this man after these last years of serving him to miss it. He said nothing.

Arthur carefully flung the quiver of arrows over his shoulder and gripped the bow in hand before taking the last item Merlin had snagged. He eyed the hat dubiously.

"This doesn't match at all," he stated and Merlin glared.

"You try stealing armour and weapons out from under its owners nose on the morn of a battle and tell me if you can meet up with your fashion standards," he snapped and Arthur sighed, slipping the bold green hat over his head and pulling it low. Fortunately it hid enough of Arthur's hair to make him inconspicuous and if he walked with his head tilted to the ground nobody should take a second look. Merlin took a good look at Arthur and took a steadying breath. Even thinner than usual from illness and starvation, he still cut a dangerous figure in the dark brown leather studded with metal. The material of the shirt he was wearing beneath the sleeveless armour was pushed back to his elbows, leaving his forearms bare in the way he favoured. The scraped skin around his wrists, still smothered with deep, painful bruising stood out like a beacon of pain.

Arthur cleared his throat, a subtle order for Merlin to stop staring, and held out the wide leather guards Merlin had snagged with the armour. Neither of them said a thing as Merlin quickly wrapped them in place, covering Arthur from wrist to mid-forearm and tying the criss-crossed leather strands securely. He watched as Arthur flexed his wrists, testing, and nodding in acceptance. A few moments later they emerged together from the woods and began making their way past scores and scores of men who, at this time, would see them both dead should their identities be revealed.

As it was it was difficult to not feel like he belonged as he walked beside Arthur. The man practically radiated an air of confidence, so comfortable and familiar with his surroundings that, even as he barely looked up from the ground, nobody gave him a second look.

Merlin did hear a few men laugh at him as he passed, muttering comments about boys not yet grown into their armour. He didn't realize he was actively scowling at the mocking words until Arthur gently smacked him in the back of the leg with his bow and told him to cut it out.

If Merlin's headache had been bad before he was beginning to think not having a head would be an acceptable change of course as he stumbled along in Arthur's wake. He was so distracted by the pain and fear of getting caught that he barely managed to stop from crashing into Arthur's back as the man stopped abruptly and swore darkly under his breath. He squinted out from under his helmet to see what the problem was, which was easy enough to do when he realized they were standing outside the Kings tent, it's door flaps opened wide and interior empty.

"The king has already left for final negotiations," Arthur twisted away from the tent and looked towards the castle in the distance. He already looked tired, face pale in the early morning sun before his lips firmed in determination. "We will have to move fast Merlin," he ordered and made to move back into the ranks of men in camp, men who were clearly beginning to assemble.

"Hey? You!" a deep voice cut through the air and Merlin jumped, twisting to look towards the knight that had called out, his red cape billowing behind him as he moved towards them. "What are you doing by the Kings tent?"

"I have an urgent message for King Uther," Arthur stated firmly, looking up into the knights eyes and frowning.

"What kind of message?" the man asked suspiciously, looking between them and Arthur, despite the fact that he was supposed to both remain inconspicuous and be portraying an archer of the lower ranks, looked up and glared.

"It's for the King's Ears only," he snapped with authority causing the knight to blink in sudden uncertainty, before he frowned.

"You look familiar to me," he said with narrowed eyes as he clearly began to try and figure out where he knew Arthur from. Clearly Arthur had recognized that this knight might not know him on sight and was counting on that as he once again scoffed at him.

"Of course I do, aside from the fact that we're both from Camelot we just marched all the way here practically side by side. Now, are you going to get us horses so we can deliver this message or am I going to have to report your negligence to duty to the King once this battle is over Sir?" Even Merlin jumped at the authoritative snap to Arthur's tone and the knight blinked, began to look worried, and called out for two horses immediately.

Two men helped heave Merlin into the saddle of his mount as Arthur jumped swiftly onto his own, not even a flinch at the pain he must have felt. Merlin didn't have time to contemplate this, seeing the necessity to move fast before people got a good look at either of them now that they were rather less conspicuous sitting above the rest.

"Make way!" Merlin hollered with as much force as he could muster, guessing Arthur couldn't spare the breath at the moment. "Make way! Message for the King!" They dug their heels into their horse's flanks and took off, men scattering out of their path as Merlin yelled warning of their approach. Some barely managing to clear out as Arthur set a punishing pace.

It didn't take long to breach the edge of the camp and out into the open field spread out before them. A ways away Merlin could see where Uther and Holden had gathered, banners flying over their heads, red against gold and green held high by their accompanying knights and council.

"They will be almost finished," Arthur yelled out from his horse beside Merlin, and then he leaned forward in his saddle slightly, pain clear on his face for Merlin to see. "We must get their before the party breaks, heeya" he encourages his horse and they picked up speed. Merlin pushed his own animal to keep up and for long, seemingly endless, moments nothing was heard but wind and thundering hooves as they galloped across the plains that could soon be rife with blood.

As they approached Merlin could see that Sir Holden and his men had already pulled back, had been preparing to leave. Obviously one of them had caught sight of them approaching because they made no further attempt to leave even as their horses began shifting about in agitation.

It was all very dramatic, Merlin's heart was pounding, the pain in his head making his vision blur and it was all he could do to hold on and pull his beast to slow as they charged together right between the two groups. He nearly fell off his horse as it stopped so sharply, his chest crashing into the beasts neck, the unfamiliar weight of the armour messing with his balance. The animal panted deeply beneath him, pawing at the ground and twisting about slightly as he tried to catch his own breath.

"What is the meaning of this!" King Uther's booming voice echoed around them and Merlin looked up, blinking away tears, just in time to see Arthur knock away his hat, cheeks flush with the wind and ride over pale skin. "Baranak!" There was no hiding the shock in Uther's voice as recognition hit.

"My King! Get behind us! We will protect you!" Sir Holden yelled out almost in unison as he and his knight moved forward to surround him. Arthur sat up straight in his saddle, thrust an arm out to halt Holden and did exactly what Merlin knew was coming and had hoped wouldn't come to pass.

"I invoke the right to single combat!" He bellowed, clearly and resolutely and he twisted in his seat until his eyes fell directly on Edgar, seated tall on Arthur's prized stallion. "I invoke the right to single combat to settle this battle once and for all, and I challenge Prince Arthur directly. Let us fight for the honour of our kingdoms!"

It seemed as though everyone stilled then, even the horses were caught under the spell of challenge, or perhaps more so under the shock of it if the look on Sir Holden's face was anything to judge by. Merlin straightened and rubbed away the moisture in his eyes, fingers catching on the metal covering his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Sir Holden clearly didn't know what to make of this turn of events, his unease quickly hidden though Merlin had seen it. Clearly the knight either didn't think his King capable of the honour of such of a fight, or of the skill to defeat Arthur. Merlin felt a sharp pang of empathy for the man who looked tired and strained on his horses back, dark eyes staring at his 'King' imploringly.

Merlin looked briefly to Uther, the man's face shuttered as he took in the challenge, sitting majestically on his white horse, his cape draped over its back and his armour gleaming. Uther then looked to Edgar, sitting tall by his side, his face red with outrage, his armour having been altered to look more regal than was Arthur's general preference. The hate that boiled up inside Merlin at the site of him actually made him dizzy for a moment. Of course it could also be the pain of the spell crashing against his resolve, trying to beat him into submitting to its will and turning on his true prince once more. Merlin would not give in. Slowly he dismounted from his horse, giving it a swat to the rump that sent it trotting away from their group. Thankfully he managed to remain on his feet, though he now felt surrounded by the men sitting so high above him.

"What say you?" Arthur demanded after a moment when Uther nor Edgar replied, though Edgar clearly didn't need much more provocation than that to open his pompous mouth.

"I will not allow myself to be dragged down by your manipulations, your treachery" Edgar snarled and glared daggers at Arthur. "Do not think you can deter the course of this battle by your falsified words of bravery."

"I do not wish to deter the course of battle," Arthur snapped back, still breathing heavily as he commanded stillness from his horse. "There is only one way this day will end, and that will be through the bloodshed that you so crave. Let the innocents not suffer where we can resolve this between us, there is no need for the deaths of so many. I invoke the right to single combat, do you accept," Arthur narrowed his eyes contemptuously, "or has your honour been so tainted that you would spit on the value of the men and women who follow your reign?"

"How _dare_ you" Edgar was practically vibrating with rage, still playing his part though his true character was beginning to slip through. Merlin could see the uncertainty in the white of his eyes, see the knowledge that his plans were not playing out as he expected. No doubt he had planned on pretending to be wounded at the beginning of the siege so that he would be carried off field, if he hadn't managed to convince Uther to keep him from the frontlines altogether.

"What say you?" Arthur demanded again, clearly unimpressed with Edgar's posturing and Merlin moved to stand closer to his side, preparing to help when he needed to dismount. "Here and now, we end this."

"My King, please reconsider-" Sir Holden's protest cut off when Arthur once again held out his hand, demanding silence. Looking at Holden Merlin could see it had been a token protest anyway, he could see the hint of pride leaking onto his face as he watched the man he thought of as his king challenge their enemy. Merlin swallowed and looked towards Uther instead. Uther who was watching Arthur carefully. Uther who was no doubt remembering the violent lashing of only a week before, who could probably see the paleness on Arthur's skin and tiredness in his shoulders. Uther who had no doubt that his own son was five times the warrior Edgar Baranak had ever trained to be.

Merlin realized that it was Uther and not Baranak that Arthur was actually appealing to, and he saw the moment Uther made his decision in the familiar shift of his shoulders, the tilting of his chin higher in superiority. It was a trait he had seen in Arthur more than once.

"Name your terms."

"What!" Edgar hissed, twisting to glare furiously at Uther but he fell silent as soon as the King of Camelot's commanding glare settled sharply on him.

"My kingdom should I fall," Arthur responded immediately, drawing back Uther's attention. "My lands and people will accept your ruling without question. In return you will not harm or punish them for either their loyalty or" he firmed his voice and stared challengingly at Uther, "their abilities of magic." Merlin stilled, forcing himself not to react to this as Uther narrowed his eyes. No matter what happened here there would be repercussions from those few words.

"I will not have magic users within my lands," he decreed resolutely, "but I will allow them six months safe passage from this kingdom to one beyond Camelot. After that the law will be upheld."

"Agreed," Arthur said immediately because it was more than he had probably hoped to receive.

"And should you win?" Uther narrowed his eyes and here Arthur smirked, just slightly, before schooling his features once more.

"I wish for peace, as it was before."

"That's it?" Uther clearly didn't trust this but Arthur nodded firmly.

"Should I win that will be more than enough."

There was another long moment of tense silence, wrought with import as Arthur and Uther steadily held each others gaze. There was a flash of sudden, unexpected, respect in Uther's eyes and he finally nodded.

"Agreed."

"You can't be serious!" Edgar hissed astride Arthur's horse and Uther barked out a command that he and 'Prince Arthur' have a moment to confer. Sir's Kay and Leon obeyed immediately, backing off and dismounting from their horses in clear show of support for their king and prince. Quickly following suit Sir Holden and the one knight he had brought with him also dismounted. The few lord councellor's from both sides dismounted as well, though one of them rather slowly and with Sir Holden's aid as he was clearly in his elder years.

Recently knighted Darcel was the last to step from his mount, and even then Merlin was pretty certain he only did so from the warning glares sent by Kay and Leon. Darcel was watching Arthur coldly. Merlin turned his back on their people and used the weak cover as much as possible to conceal the steadying hand he gave Arthur as he finally pulled off his horse as well.

He was unable to hide the soft grunt as his feet touched down and he straightened.

"Arthur," Merlin spoke softly, keeping the horse between them and Darcel and Arthur looked to him. There was no uncertainty in his gaze, no cowardice or second thoughts or regret. There was rage, however, though it was deeply buried under the sheer force of control Arthur had spent his entire life honing. Merlin swallowed and pushed his helmet back a bit on his head, wishing the thing would stop sliding over his eyes.

"It'll be _fine_ Merlin," Arthur intoned.

"I _know that_," Merlin tried to sound more exasperated than worried and was glad he did at the warm smile Arthur gave him in return. Merlin didn't know what else to say, there was simply too much, and his thoughts turned to darker paths, to what he could do to Edgar, to revenge, and he was startled when Arthur suddenly smacked him upside the arm, shaking him from his thoughts.

"You will not interfere Merlin," he ordered, soft and as stern as ever, "in _any_ way, understand? Edgar is mine and mine alone to defeat." Merlin nodded sharply, because there was no arguing with that tone. Ever. It didn't mean he wasn't going to have a sharp eye on Darcel though, because it was clear the newly knighted man was not to be trusted. "Right then" Arthur straightened and looked at Merlin expectantly. Merlin blinked. "The armour Merlin, it's time to switch," he huffed as Merlin quickly complied, clumsily tilting the quiver a little too far to the side as he removed it and spilling the arrows to the ground.

"Sorry, sorry," he apologized out of habit even if he nearly smiled when Arthur relaxed with the familiarity of it all. He shouldn't be smiling, not when Arthur could be…not when Arthur was about to enter a fight to the death. He carefully peeled off the leather armour before beginning to remove his own, with Arthur's help.

"Sire," Sir Holden approached cautiously, having decided that he had held back long enough, and bowed deeply as he came to stand before them. Arthur turned to him and nodded greeting while Merlin awkwardly shrugged the chainmail off. He pulled the helmet back in place quickly, glad the horse had been mostly blocking him from Camelot's view, because it was too early for that complication just yet. "It is good to see you well my King," he sounded like he meant it, though he paused to eye Merlin uncertainly.

"And you Sir Holden," Arthur returned respectfully, which had Holden's cheek twitching uneasily. Clearly Edgar didn't show his appreciation for his knights often enough.

"Your majesty, I would be honoured to fight in your place-"

"You heard the terms of combat, there will be no one fighting in my place, though I appreciate your concern," he firmly rebuffed the offer, trying to hide his irritation because none of Camelot's knights would ever dare offer to combat in Arthur's place when Arthur had taken such a stand to earn the fight. But Edgar was not Arthur and the prince of Camelot understood this, understood that Sir Holden would act in accordance to his own ways. Arthur barely seemed to notice the weight of the armour sliding onto his shoulders.

"Then please, sire, take my sword. It is battle hardened and a worthy companion," he unsheathed his weapon and presented it to Arthur with both hands, dropping to one knee as he held it up. Arthur swallowed thickly, eyeing the sturdy, well crafted weapon longingly before shaking his head.

"I can not accept the honour, Sir Holden. That is your fathers sword, and his before him, crafted with the purpose of protecting your king and kingdom by your lineage alone," Merlin could see Holden's shoulders slump slightly at the refusal of his offer, but he hid the dejection quickly and moved to his feet once more, sliding the weapon back into its home. Arthur's hand shifted around the unfamiliar hilt of the sword he did hold, and Merlin tried not to feel bad for Holden. Arthur would have done him a grave disservice if he had accepted his blade; using it to kill the king he had sworn to protect. He didn't have to concern himself with the situation long, however, as Holden's attention was drawn beyond them and Merlin twisted about to see Edgar marching confidently towards them, fury and resentment etched in every line in his face as Uther and the men of Camelot stood tall behind him.

It was time.

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Master list


	11. Chapter 11

Arthur would like to say that this final battle with Edgar was the same as any other he had fought in the name of truth and the preservation of his kingdom. In many ways this was even true. The air might not be still around them, but he ceased feeling the wind, feeling the coolness of the early morning mist still swirling thinly about the trampled grass upon his bared skin. Sound sharpened, smell dulled, and the blood pounded through his body in preparation, giving him energy. Giving him energy he sorely needed at this time. In many ways this fight was like so many he had fought before- and like none of them at all.

He turned when Merlin's body stiffened, watching Edgar approach, tall and strong and dressed in full armour. At least he had the sense to loose the deep red cape that had adorned his shoulders, Arthur's cape, though he did not lose his helm, even in the face of Arthur being so unprotected himself. It sent a flood of disgust through him.

But more than that Arthur felt rage. He had pushed it aside when they'd thundered into this council and seen Edgar for the first time since…in many days. Arthur had forced himself to take deep breaths, forced himself to keep a clear head and appeal to his father in the only way he knew how before Edgar got a chance to have him once again bound, perhaps even killed before anything could be set to rights. Arthur knew that his father would see reason, just as he knew that his father would not have any reservations about allowing his 'son' to battle. Edgar Baranak was not lacking in skill with a sword, but he had never been a match for Arthur. Uther would have no doubts that his son could win a fight such as this, especially against a foe so injured. Uther would see it as a chance to stall bloodshed and to perhaps honour the memory of Edgar's father.

Arthur was, of course, right.

He saw the look of anger on Edgar's face at this turn of events, at having his plans turned on him so close to the end. He saw the mocking, callous cut in his eyes as he stared at Arthur in his approach, the Pendragon crest stitched boldly into the tunic laid over his chainmail, and he felt rage. But, more than that, for a brief, stabbing moment he also felt fear.

"Put him in the ground, sire," Merlin whispered then, his words breaking through the white wash of foreign uncertainty, steady and calm and full of confidence that Arthur wasn't sure he deserved. It grounded him, and he looked briefly from his approaching enemy to Merlin, meeting his stormy grey eyes, and the fear was nothing but a bad memory. Arthur wasn't sure, but he thought that his lips may have curled in a mockery of a smile even as he turned away once more.

"Gladly."

The rage though, the rage stayed with him. The anger and frustration that had been entrenched within him since he had been dragged before his kingdom, his father, flogged and spit on and hated because of the treachery of this man before him, now fuelled his weak and damaged body. The fury of the atrocities committed, so personally, so devastatingly, burned white hot within his body and, with a lifetime of practice, he honed it, controlled it, and moved to attack.

The first clash of sword against sword was near devastating. The shock of pain a compressed agony along his ribs and back, through his wrist and shoulders, and Edgar leaned on his sword, pressing closer to Arthur as he fought to keep the blade between them instead of in his neck.

"You think this little show means you've beaten me?" he hissed and Arthur planted his foot in a lump of earth, braced himself, and shoved Edgar back. Their blades scraped piercingly as they pulled apart before Edgar swung around again, fiercely. Arthur was more prepared for the pain this time. "You're _nothing,_" spittle landed on Arthur's cheek, "I've already won!"

Arthur spun away, the tip of Edgar's sword catching across his gut warningly, but he gained the momentum to step right into Edgar space, forcing the man to raise his sword just in time to block Arthur's from severing his neck. Arthur bared his teeth, sucking air through his clenched jaw.

"You lost the moment you tried to take Camelot from me," he snarled and prepared to break their lock when Edgar huffed a sharp, derisive, knowing laugh.

"That's not _all_ I took from you," he taunted. It felt like Arthur had been stabbed with heated steel, burning to his core and sucking air from his lungs, much like Edgar had probably planned. Edgar's miscalculation, however, was that it was not a physical blow, and that was the only thing that was going to stop Arthur now.

"It's the last thing you'll take from anyone." He dropped his elbows together, stepping to his side and rotating his wrists so the lock of their pressed swords ended abruptly and Edgar, who had been putting his weight into holding Arthur off, stumbled forward half a step. It was enough misbalance to allow Arthur to thrust his arms forward once more, twisting his swords hilt until the heavy round pummel at the base of his grip smashed right into Edgar's nose, crushing the thin metal ridge of the helmet. There was a crack and an outraged cry as Edgar staggered back and away, putting a bit of space between them as blood began to run down his face and over his lips. He blinked heavily, tears from the damage springing to his eyes even as they heated with battle craze. He barely took time to regain his footing before he was lunging at Arthur with all his might.

Arthur met him half way. It was time for this to end.

**ΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦ**

Merlin watched.

Silently.

There was only one way this was going to end, one way it had ever been destined to end, and that was in death. Ultimately it was conspired by Edgar's hand, but it would be Arthur who finished it. Merlin had lost all fear for Arthur before the fight even began. Lost it the moment Arthur nodded when Merlin requested he put Edgar in the ground, and smiled.

It wasn't a smile he ever wanted to see on Arthur's face again, but it was one that left no question about who was in charge.

Merlin had so much confidence that he didn't even watch the first few sword thrusts, content to lean on the horse as he led him over to stand by Sir Holden's, and then use the animal to continue to prop him up. Thankfully the beast was amenable to the task, because Merlin wasn't sure he could manage on his own anymore.

Then Merlin watched.

But he didn't watch Arthur. He watched Uther. Watched as the man stood proudly by his horse, confident, secure in his son's ability. He watched the moment Uther realized that the battle wasn't turning out the way he had assumed it would, saw the light of true fear enter his normally hard eyes. Watched as he reached for his own sword, hand curling around the hilt and preparing to draw and step in to his child's defence, and forcibly staying his self. Merlin wasn't normally one to feel pity for Uther, but here, now, after everything, seeing the horror rise in the man's eyes, he felt that maybe the brief flash of pity was warranted. Even if he knew it would only be brief.

The clashing of swords was like a sharp barking in his ears, screaming loudly into a world that had otherwise been growing more and more muffled for Merlin as they had approached Edgar. The sounds wrought what felt like a hole in his skull that did nothing to relieve the pressure, instead getting tighter and tighter as they went on. Until there was one final clash of steel, and a thump, followed by a wretched shriek of pain. Merlin looked then, blurred vision falling to where Arthur was standing, both hands still wrapped around his sword even as he had it thrust deep into Edgar's gut. The chainmail split around the blade, and bunched slightly as Arthur twisted the sword ruthlessly. With a stumble Edgar fell back, his hands wrapping around the blade where it entered him, his eyes wide with shock and pain.

With one final twist Arthur ripped the weapon clear, stepping back from the killing blow to watch dispassionately as Uther gave a strained cry and moved swiftly forward. The king fell to his knees beside the man he still perceived as his son while his true boy stumbled a few steps to the side and stabbed the bloody sword into the ground to lean on as a crutch. Merlin wanted to go to Arthur, wanted to rush over there but he just couldn't move, couldn't stop looking at the faces of Camelot, eyes wide with shock and horror as they gathered around their fallen.

Edgar convulsed, once, his legs twitching in a way Merlin would never forget nor ever regret. He would spend many a night fearing that this lack of remorse made him a monster, and even more nights thankful for it as he watched Arthur wake from nightmares or struggle to not flinch at a casual touch during a banquet.

Merlin reached up, knocking the overwhelmingly heavy helmet from his head once and for all and looked back to Arthur. Arthur was watching him. Arthur looked like he was ready to fall down. Merlin did fall down, collapsing to his knees as the agony finally became too much and the world burned bright as the sun. He was going to die.

He was going to die.

When the pain ended, sudden and absolute, it took him a long moment before he realized it was actually gone. The shock came when he felt a heavy hand grip his shoulder, unnecessarily sharply, and he jerked his eyes open to find Arthur's face right before his own. Close and staring intently, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, eyes blood shot and skin pallid as a ghost. A few drops of Edgar's blood smeared on his bare neck. Merlin swallowed and took a shaky breath in.

"You look awful," he blurted, his world coming back to him as his vision cleared completely, his hearing returning with a steady rush. Arthur blinked slowly, swallowed, nodded, and the hand gripping his shoulder, Arthur's hand, squeezed tightly.

"All right then?" Arthur asked, voice rough, eyes assessing and Merlin realized that yes, yes he was in fact all right. For the first time in over a week everything felt as it should. It felt-

"What is this? Explain!" Sir Holden demanded suddenly, loudly, ripping Merlin's attention from Arthur to finally look about him and see the confusion on the knight's face as he stared at Arthur. Arthur used Merlin's shoulder to push to his feet and Merlin swiftly arose with him, placing himself between his prince and the enraged, confused knight.

"Arthur?" Merlin turned along with Arthur to where Uther was now standing, leaning over the prone form of Edgar Baranak. The king looked at Arthur and then down to Edgar and back again. He had blood on one hand from where he had tried to halt the bleeding and, if it were possible, he paled even further as the realization of what this all meant sank in. "He was lying all along," he did an admirable job of collecting himself, of masking the relief mingled with the lingering pain of what he had thought he'd lost even as he made to move forward.

"He was," Arthur agreed, louder now but still sounding wrecked; like a man who had been tortured, and left to rot, and spent days on the run with a potential war on his shoulders. "He can lie no longer," he added hollowly. Then, looking about, his eyes turned sharply cold once more as he set his gaze on Sir Darcel.

Merlin didn't make a move to stop him as he once again raised his sword. Nobody made a move to stop him, be it from shock or from the sincere wish to not interfere with their prince's will. Arthur moved swiftly across the grass towards the man, his step labouring on his right side, his one shoulder turned slightly away with the instinct to protect it. Darcel unsheathed his own sword, his eyes wide and white with fear as he held out his empty hand imploringly.

"Please sire, please," he begged, voice cracking and high pitched as he stumbled back a half pace and quickly looked to Leon and Kay for help. The two knights stepped aside, their faces impassive as Arthur drew closer. They would never dare interfere with Arthur's intentions. "I didn't know it was you, I swear-"

"You were warned your life was forfeit, you made your choice," Arthur's tone was a study of cool detachment. When he reached Darcel the man had his sword raised and he stepped forward to meet Arthur's attack, to defend his life. Arthur bat the sword aside with his own easily, fast and furious and not giving the man any more chances. He plunged his blade into Darcel's throat, cutting deep, cutting through, and pulled it out just as quickly. He stepped back and watched dispassionately as Darcel's body crumpled to the grass, blood spraying hot and red across the yellow green stalks. The moment was followed by a still silence, nobody daring to speak as Arthur stood breathing, his hand beginning to tremble before he tossed the bloodied sword to the ground and clenched it into a fist. After a long moment he turned back to them, tall and proud.

And done.

He was done.

Merlin raced to him even as his knees began to buckle, but Sir Kay and Leon were already at his side, catching him under his arms and helping to lower him gently to kneel in the earth. Merlin dropped to the damp ground, not even aware that he was issuing orders for a stretcher and shelter and bandages as he began unbuckling the few pieces of armour Arthur wore and threw them aside. Leon and Kay helped remove the heavy chainmail. His back was sopping red, soaked through his shirt. The wounds ripped open once more from the battle and Merlin must have let loose a sound of dismay because Arthur looked up at him.

"Don't worry Merlin," Arthur tried to smirk reassuringly, his words slurring as he began to shake beneath his steadying hands. "Be good as new in the morning," he decided, and gave in to his exhaustion completely, eyes rolling back in his head and body slumping to the side. Leon helped lie him down on his side, keeping his hand beneath his head for support.

"I'd rather you were good now," Merlin muttered under his breath and then, with the kings rather imploring blessing, he got about trying to fix his idiot once and for all.

If his hands shook slightly while doing so not a single person around him said a thing about it.

**ΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦ**

Arthur's fever comes back with a vengeance and for two days Merlin sleeps in brief intervals on a straw mat in Baranak's castle guest quarters while he tends to him. Sirs Kay and Leon are always around as an honour guard and Uther spends great chunks of time sitting by Arthur's bedside, watching his uneasy rest silently between organizing his armies move back to Camelot and meetings with Sir Holden and the kingdom's council.

It's a long two days and it's worse than it was before, worse because Arthur's body seemed to realize he was safer now and decided that it could shut down more thoroughly than it had before. Sir Holden sent their best physician to help and stopped by three times a day to check on Arthur himself, apparently still having difficulty coming to grips with what his King had done; that his king was truly dead.

"How did you see through the curse?" Holden asked softly that first evening in the chambers. Merlin didn't look up from the application of Gaius's healing salve, one enhanced by magical properties whispered hurriedly in a snatched moment of privacy. King Uther looked up from where he sat, eyes hard and imploring as he focused the entirety of his attention on Merlin. Merlin shrugged.

"I dunno," he put the salve aside and went to examine the scabbed branding on Arthur's stomach. "It took me a few days before I realized which man was truly Arthur, but I suppose…I spend so much time with him, as his manservant, maybe the proximity allowed me a clearer picture." He could feel the eyes of both men burning on his back and took care to appear at ease.

"You're saying you believe you know my son more than I?" Uther's tone was cool and at this Merlin looked over quickly, floundering for words in the face of such a delicate question. He couldn't very well say 'yes' to that, not to the king no matter how true he felt it was.

"No sire! No, I would never dare to presume- I wouldn't- he is the focus of my days sire. A great amount of my time is spent in his presence, seeing to his needs- I wouldn't ever-"

"You are very loyal Merlin," Uther cut him off, sharp eyes watching him steadily for another moment before he turned back to watch Arthur's restless slumber. "Arthur is fortunate to have found that."

"Arthur is worthy of the loyalty sire," Merlin swallowed and moved away from the bed as he finished, suddenly unsure what to do. Uther smiled then, a warm pride that Merlin had never seen from him before, chased with regret and distance. Nobody asked again how Merlin was able to see through a curse where two kingdoms had failed and, to the best of his knowledge, nobody ever dreamed that magic might have had something to do with it.

In the afternoon of the second day Arthur's fever broke. Uther waited long enough to speak privately with his son while Merlin stood awkwardly outside the bedchamber, Sir Kay standing sentry by his side watched him with an unnervingly keen eye. When Uther was finished he marched out of the chambers with a purpose in his step and informed them that he is heading back to Camelot to take care of matters there, and to reassure the people that all is well.

"When he's ready," he looked at Merlin sternly, "you will bring Arthur home to us." He didn't bother waiting for a reply, turning and striding away purposefully.

"Aren't you going with the King?" Merlin asked Sir Kay softly only to be answered with an arched brow, as though the answer should be obvious, before resuming guard at the door. "Right, staying here then. Good, that…that's a relief," Merlin muttered awkwardly and then fled into the room.

**ΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦ**

They came back to Camelot. The streets were near overwhelming with the sheer number of people piling up to see their true Prince home. There was clapping and cheering, solemn gazes and crying women, words of encouragement and the silent. Bluebells and sun brightened dandelions were tossed on the path before Arthur, the scent of crushed thyme rising from beneath their horses hooves as they wound through the streets.

You wouldn't know to look at him the ordeals he had gone through. You wouldn't know the three days travel home had lent him little rest and little comfort. They should have remained another week as guests of Baranak's kingdom as Sir Holden had tried to insist, but Arthur wouldn't have it. Restless and wanting to get home he left with peace once again brokered between the two kingdoms, Merlin and his guard having no choice but to follow lest they be left behind.

Now though, waving and smiling grandly to his people, it would be easy to forget he still had scabbed over wounds on his back or bright pink scars across his torso. Easy if you hadn't spent so long trying to put him back together. Easy if you didn't know how much there still was to heal. Finger tipped bruises and scrapes on his wrists hidden by soft leather gauntlets.

Merlin followed suit and grinned and waved as he and the knights followed in Arthur's tracks, and when they pulled up to the castle grounds he watched with a smile that felt too wide on his face as Arthur swung off his horse and greeted his father with a hearty hug. Thank goodness Uther seemed to have sense as he refrained from gripping too hard before leading Arthur inside the castle. Nobody stopped Merlin from following as they tromped up the stone stairs to the balcony that over looked the castles inner yard. He stood back and watched as Arthur stood beside his father and waved down at the people beginning his homecoming speech.

Merlin should have probably focused on the words being said. They were no doubt historical and filled with reassurances and goodwill with forgiveness subtly laced into it somewhere. Arthur wasn't dim, despite Merlin's oft teasing words, and he would have seen the looks of guilt and self-flagellation many carried for standing by and cheering as he had been dragged before them and flogged. Especially from his knights. The people who really mattered would hear the words, but would no doubt not heed them. The best way for Arthur to truly absolve the people from their guilt was to show them in person that he was fine. He was healthy and whole and back with them. Nothing was wrong.

A light touch on his arm distracted Merlin from his increasingly dark thoughts and he looked to see Morgana by his side and Guinevere at her shoulder, staring at Arthur across the balcony. Morgana was watching Merlin though, her pale green eyes intense as he met her gaze. For lack of what to do he nodded at her slightly and tried on a small grin. It felt crooked and off and she seemed to see right through it as her grip grew stronger a moment and she blinked rapidly a few times before her composure was secure.

"You brought him home," she said softly and he lay his free hand over hers, feeling the light tremble in her fingers.

"_We_ brought him home," he whispered back. "I could never have done it without yourself and Guinevere believing in us, helping us." Beyond the balcony the people cried out reverently at something Arthur said. Morgana didn't argue the point, though he could see the doubt in her eyes. Before he could even begin to think of what to say to address it she tore her gaze away and directed it at Arthur.

"How is he? Really?" She asked and his smile faltered, became a difficult thing to keep up so he lost it all together.

"He'll heal."

"Yes, of course he will," her agreement was thin, watery and she took another deep breath. "Thank you Merlin," she whispered softly and leaned in, grazing a very light kiss across his cheek. Then she was gone, off to greet Arthur now that the speeches were concluding. Merlin watched the reunion from his place off to the side, but it wasn't long before Arthur was taking his leave of the group and heading his way.

"To my chambers Merlin, I believe it's time I was reacquainted with my proper wardrobe."

"Of course sire," Merlin moved to his side as they departed, feeling many eyes upon their backs. Beside him he could tell exactly when Arthur stifled a sigh at the continued attention, but he kept his step even and paused a few times to greet the castle staff and thank them for their well wishes. As soon as Merlin closed the door to his chambers Arthur sort of hunched over, his shoulders drooping and the exhaustion back in every line of his face.

"Time for a nap then?" Merlin asked cheerfully as Arthur carelessly tossed his crown on the heavy wooden table where he took his meals and began trying to unclip the cape that must be weighing down on his shoulders. Merlin stepped up to help and tried not to worry when the expected rejoinder never came to be. Without much fanfare Arthur lay atop his covers and fell asleep. Or pretended to, Merlin wasn't sure which but he understood the request regardless and, after a few brief words to start the fire in the hearth, he bid a soft wish for easy rest and left Arthur to his privacy.

A banquet in Arthur's honour came about. Then one of the most uncomfortable meals in Merlin's lifetime of experience as Uther ordered a private sitting with Arthur, Morgana, and Merlin himself at the table. Merlin didn't know what to do, how to act, and definitely had no idea what to say as he shared the table with Camelot's royalty, wearing the shirt Arthur had insisted on giving him for staining his other one with blood. Honestly, as far as thank you's from the king went Merlin would have preferred being given a roast to share with Gaius and Gwen at home. Thank goodness Morgana came prepared to carry most of the conversation that evening as Merlin feared opening his mouth and saying something that would have him sent to the stocks. Arthur mostly opened his mouth to eat and nothing more. It was the first and last time he would ever share a royal table while Uther was in reign and Merlin thanked his lucky stars for that.

It wasn't lost on him when Arthur began to occasionally order two evening meals for Merlin to fetch, but he protested only the first time Arthur had ordered him to sit and share the meal with him. The look on Arthur's face as he glared at Merlin wasn't one he was likely to forget.

"Merlin, you have stood by my side even when I gave you no personal reason, you have tended to my wounds, performed treasonous acts to save my life, and trusted me with a secret that's revelation could have you killed at any moment. You might be the worst manservant I've ever had, but you're also," he'd stuttered here, clearly uncomfortable but forging on while Merlin stared like a wide-eyed pillock, "you're also the best friend. We share meals around the fire all the time, I see no reason why we can't share them in my quarters as well."

Merlin sat. He also very wisely did not tease Arthur once about labelling him as a friend. Arthur also shared meals around the fire with his fellow knights, and occasionally when he went to the knights hall to eat and make merry, but to Merlin's knowledge he never invited anyone to his quarters. It must have been lonely for him, to keep such a distance throughout life.

When Merlin carried the one meal up to Arthur's room, a few weeks after the Edgar thing, he hadn't been expecting much but another quiet evening of tending to Arthur, perhaps some half-hearted discussion about the upcoming tournament or the new horses Uther had acquired for the stables. Another evening of pretending things were getting better, that Arthur was dealing with what had happened and coming around to his old self again. It was stilted, mixed with genuine light-heartedness that Merlin could confidently brag Arthur only showed around him these days, but they were both trying.

What Merlin hadn't been expecting as he shoved into the room and kicked the heavy door shut with his heel, was to turn around and see Arthur standing in the middle of the room, shirtless and with his arms crossed, staring right at Merlin. Merlin paused, his eyes automatically tracking to the healed burn on his too pale stomach, before raising an inquiring eyebrow. Something was up, his nerves were singing, but he forced himself to remain cavalier and moved to put down the meal.

"Don't tell me you soiled all your shirts beyond use again," he let his eyes drift to the large hearth, where a fire that had obviously been burning for a while know, threw light around the room. It was late, the sky outside beginning to darken, but nowhere near cold enough for such great heat. He looked back to Arthur, who had tracked his movements with his steady gaze.

"I have plenty of shirts Merlin," he said softly. Merlin frowned, his gut beginning to twist.

"Might want to think about throwing one on, judging by the size of that fire you started I'd say you were cold," he said back lightly, looking at Arthur closely. Something was afoot, he couldn't rule out magic just yet though he'd dearly hoped to not have to deal with such a thing for a while yet. Merlin could also be jumping at shadows; he could admit to himself that where Arthur was concerned he was always worried, but more so than usual for obvious reasons as of late.

"I need you to do something for me Merlin."

Merlin's gut clenched at the tone.

"What?" he asked and Arthur narrowed his gaze a moment before moving, the sudden shift nearly startling Merlin and he watched Arthur's back, scars healed to sharp pink lines, as he walked boldly to the fire. Merlin wasn't sure what he had been expecting after that leading question, but it was not for Arthur to wrap his hand in a thick towel and then grasp the end of a long metal handle that had been sitting in the flame. He turned to face Merlin and held it up in display and Merlin took a physical step back. "No," he said immediately, firmly, perhaps a little sickly as he stared at the branding rods glowing end, tracing the shape of the Camelot's dragon crest. It was the most basic of outlines and familiar Kingdom's over, but even more so to Merlin who had spent near countless time fretting over an injury of the same shape.

"Merlin," Arthur sighed and placed the metal stamp back in the flames.

"No," Merlin shook his head and glared. "I am not going to do whatever it is you're asking here Arthur, I won't."

Arthur moved a few steps closer but kept a distance between them, head bowed slightly and shoulders hunched in that familiar way he only kept in the privacy of his room.

"Merlin, let me explain first before you turn me down."

"What is there to explain? You want me to help you disfigure yourself some more? Sure, why not, that's easy enough to understand isn't it? Except that I won't do it!" His voice rose and he fought to control it as Arthur continued to watch him with that same, calm, determined stare he had that Merlin was beginning to loathe. Arthur took a deep breath before him, then another, and his fists clenched rhythmically by his side.

"This mark," he gestured to the burn that had healed well enough to be mostly distinguished, thin lines of scar raised around the wings and mess of a head where it had burnt deepest, "it will always be with me Merlin. I see it everyday, I feel the pull of it when I move, it is still tender to the barest of touch." Merlin swallowed, but kept his mouth closed, because this was the first time Arthur had talked about the injuries beyond asking how they were healing. Arthur frowned and glared around the room, eyes crinkling in the corners as he searched for words and looked back at Merlin.

"This is the mark of my house, of Camelot. It is a noble, strong symbol of everything that my family stands for, that I stand for," he swallowed and Merlin mimicked the action thoughtlessly. "Edgar took that from me when he gave me this," he waved unnecessarily at the mark, but Merlin wasn't looking at it anymore anyway, his attention focused on the anger and hurt leaking into Arthur's eyes. It was the first time Arthur allowed it to show since their nights on the run in the forest. "This is a mockery of honour, this is hate filled jealousy and madness and it is something that will never leave me. A reminder of the things he did-" Arthur pressed his lips tightly, cutting himself off and taking another steadying breath.

"Merlin, I need this to be honourable again, so that when I look at myself I don't see the bitterness of defeat. So that I can be proud of what it stands for and remember victory. I will carry this mark forever, but not by _his_ hand, and I can't do this by myself."

Merlin lost time as they stared at each other, Arthur waiting patiently for a verdict while the desperateness of it was laid out for Merlin to see. It took a long time for Merlin to nod slowly, and he held up his hand when Arthur looked genuinely relieved and was about to break the silence.

"This will be the only time Arthur," he implored. "This will be the_ only_ time that something like this ever takes place on accordance of our will, the _only_ time I will raise a hand with intent to do you harm and I won't-"

"You will never do me harm Merlin," Arthur cut him off swiftly, his voice fierce and certain. "If there was any doubt then I would not ask. After everything I know you are aware of this." And maybe Merlin was aware of this, was humbled and elated by this, but it sort of paled in importance for what was about to come. "And I give you my word that I will never cause myself harm needlessly," Arthur finished, and that seemed to be what Merlin was really waiting to hear, reassurance that this wasn't to become common. He didn't know if he believed it yet, but he wanted to, and the sheer relief in Arthur's eyes was enough to keep that fear at bay.

"Okay," he agreed, "okay. But I need some supplies," and a chance to gather himself. He didn't ask for permission to depart, instead fleeing the room back to his own to gather bandages and healing ointments and to take a few moments to look through one of his books of spells until he found what he wanted.

When he returned Arthur was still shirtless and picking at his meal, though Merlin doubted he had really eaten anything. He stood and swiftly moved to his bed, the bedclothes already pulled aside to keep them unsullied, and he lay down, unlacing his pants just enough to tug them further out of the way. Merlin took in the sight, maybe stared a bit too long when Arthur's expectant cough got him moving again.

He handed Arthur the strap of leather.

"You will bite this," he ordered and Arthur placed it between his teeth without comment, only to spit it out and protest a moment later after he watched Merlin pull the brand from the fire and souse it in the pail of water Arthur had so thoughtfully prepared ahead of time.

"Merlin-"

"Quiet Arthur. If we're doing this I'm using flame cleaner than that," he explained, softly, because he could see the trepidation Arthur was ruthlessly trying to hide beneath his conviction. Merlin studied the mark on Arthur, noting where he would need to press it, before wiping a clean cloth across the warm skin. Arthur jerked at the touch but didn't pull away, instead watching silently as Merlin muttered a few preparatory words of pre-healing over the site. He placed the leather back between his teeth when Merlin turned his sights on the brand, new words in old tongue danced through the air and the dragon lit up with a hot blue flame before dimming to a cool white glow. He held it close to the base for a steadier hand, not worried about being burnt and looked back to Arthur, who watched with steady blue eyes that damn near glowed in the magical light.

"Are you sure Arthur?" He asked one last time and Arthur took a breath and nodded firmly, leaning his head back into the pillows.

When it was done, the near silent scream of pain imprinting in Merlin's memories, Arthurs skin was flushed and sweaty. He spit the leather out, his teeth marks clear punched into the soft surface, and took a few gasping breaths as Merlin dropped the awful tool back into the water and moved to examine the wound. It looked clean, it was deep but the lines were crisper than the first injury. He felt the urge to giggle bubble up inside at the thought that it would have looked rather bizarre had he not matched the dragon up correctly, but quashed it down as he was fairly sure that it was hysteria. It would heal a hundred times better, was even now beginning to scab over in the shallower parts as the magic kicked in. It would be a few days yet before it would heal fully.

Merlin felt shaky, light-headed, and his hands were trembling as he picked up the jar of healing salve by his knee. Before he managed to open it, however, Arthur was pushing to sit up and Merlin nearly pulled away as one hand reached out and he wrapped his arm around Merlin's neck. It was easy to forget how quick Arthur could move when you spent so much time seeing him sit still through meetings and banquets. Regardless Merlin did not resist as Arthur dragged him forward and buried his head in Merlin's neck, breath still shaky. Merlin wrapped one arm loosely around his back and, with a small sigh of relief, relaxed into the loose embrace.

"Thank you" Arthur mumbled a long moment later when he had his reaction to the pain back under control and pulled away. It took Merlin a few moments too long to remove his own arm, and even then he kept a light hand on Arthur while he went about dressing the wound. Merlin nodded, not having words to respond just then, and Arthur lay back down and threw an arm over his eyes. They didn't speak again that night, though Merlin stayed in a chair by the bed until the early morn, waiting until Arthur finally fell asleep under his watchful gaze.

They didn't speak of it again at all. Not with words at least, and even then not for a few years, but after that night something in Arthur shifted subtly. Something loosened.

It was a start. A start was all Arthur ever needed.

**ΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦ**

Weeks later, after a glorious day accompanying Morgana and Guinevere on horseback through the forest ripe with the crispness of fall, Merlin found himself humming as he meandered through the castle halls. Arthur, of course, had left him with the task of taking care of the horses when they got back in favour of heading off to speak with a group of knights fresh off the training grounds. His laughter cut through the castle grounds, loud enough that the stable boys took notice and shared pleasant smiles with Merlin. Of course Arthur was gone by the time Merlin finished up with the animals, but Merlin couldn't begrudge him that because it was commonplace.

He found Arthur quickly enough, camped out in his room pouring over some of the newer maps at his table. Merlin made no effort to remain quiet as he thumped in and dumped Arthur's armour on the floor, the clatter remarkably loud in the closed room. He peeked over his shoulder to see Arthur's attention had turned to him now, a bemused quirk to his lips and Merlin went back to his task of shoving the armour into its place on the stand. When he finished he turned back to Arthur, grinning wider than he had in a while and generally feeling pretty good about life.

"Merlin, correct me if I'm wrong," he drawled and Merlin narrowed his eyes at the innocent tone, "but you polished that armour remarkably fast."

"Yes, well, maybe I'm a better servant than you give me credit for," Merlin mock-bowed with a flourish.

"Oh I couldn't agree more," Arthur smiled easily. Too easily, as he straightened to lean back against the heavy table, arms crossed over his chest and red sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Merlin blinked. "In fact it has recently come to my attention that I may not be utilizing your rather unique skills to your fullest potential," he sounded a little too happy to be discussing Merlin's magic so casually. It concerned Merlin, with good reason, and he frowned at the blonde man suspiciously.

"I think I've been saying that since the day I was given the dubious honour of being your manservant," he said slowly, which just seemed to please Arthur even more, a wicked glint in his eyes as he pushed away from the table and uncrossed his arms.

"I'm so glad to know you feel the same Merlin," he announced enthusiastically and walked up to Merlin, clapping a warm hand on his shoulder and using his grip to turn Merlin bodily. Merlin swallowed, the heat of Arthur's hand relaxing him despite the smug amusement that had been so apparent as Arthur approached him. Then he looked to where Arthur was gesturing, and manfully withheld a sigh. "As I had a few people bring the rest of my personal armour and weapons along with my old jousting tack here. I trust it won't be an issue for you to set it all to rights and give it a nice shine? After all it would be a shame for such potential to go to waste."

Merlin eyed the pile of metal and leather and shook his head mournfully, though, oddly enough, he did not feel his good mood dampen. Not even a little.

"You are a horrendous person and I can't fathom for the life of me what I have done to be punished by your continued company."

"Cheer up Merlin, it's just a bit of wash and repair," Arthur's grin widened smugly even as his eyes warmed significantly with fondness. His hand lingered longer than necessary, burning a welcome patch of warmth where it rested before he released Merlin and moved back to his table. Merlin watched him walk away, certain the same look of fondness had been easy enough to read on his own features.

"A bit of wash and repair?" He muttered loudly, the irritation in his tone false even to his own ears. He eyed the heaping pile before him, resting so innocently on the floor. "This'll take me all night." Perhaps, he thought warmly, that was the point.

"Not if you use your words Merlin," Arthur called back, his attention mostly back on his maps but a pleased smile still lingered on his lips and in the corner of his eyes. Merlin looked back at the pile thoughtfully.

"Maybe I will," he agreed, and then rolled up his sleeves to get to work. In the end he didn't use his words to speed the task along after all. Turns out he wasn't in a great hurry to be anywhere else.

End.


End file.
